The Worst Christmas Ever
by justok
Summary: The negotiations with the government of Aderiel have lasted far longer than anyone would have assumed. Sulu challenges his crewmates to share a memory of a more pathetic Christmas.
1. Christmas on Aderiel

Kirk shut the door firmly. "And good night," he said. Rubbing his hands together to warm them, he turned to face his crew.

"At last," McCoy said. He was shivering. The Aderielan delegates had made their lengthy goodbye speeches while standing outside the open doors, and the wind had been miserable.

"I didn't think they would ever leave," Sulu sounded bitter.

"They aren't sensitive to hints, are they? Well, now that they've finally gone home to bed, we can relax too," Scott said. Grabbing one of the Aderielan nestles, he dragged it toward the fire pit in the center of the room.

They were in the male visitors' house on the grounds of the Aderielan embassy. Like most buildings on the planet, it was a squat cylinder. Seeing it for the first time, Scotty had remarked that it looked like a giant cheese. They'd all laughed.

It had been days since they had found anything on Aderiel amusing.

The quarters were designed to encourage quiet days of conversation and thought, the preferred activities of Aderiel's top social rung, the contemplative class. The main doors opened into a large, round room draped in fabric. Soft lights reflected up to a ceiling only a little higher than Spock's head. Most of the furnishings were made of the same material as the nestles and arranged around the shallow pit. Bathrooms and sleep chambers were hidden behind the sound absorbing curtain walls. Most daytime activities, the meals and the long social calls that made up much of the Aderielan day, occurred around the smokeless purple fire.

It was summer, and their hosts regularly commented on the lovely weather, but the crew found it cold and wet. The wind snuck under the doors, sometimes whistling loud enough to make conversation difficult for humans, the Aderielans (also, by human standards, rather squat and cylindrical) never seemed to notice.

Scott pulled his nestle close to the fire. He sat down and let the Aderielan chair shape itself around him. He stretched his hands toward the warmth, sighing happily.

McCoy glanced at the first officer, scowled and said, "Jim, if we do nothing else, we need to heat this place up. This planet's not warm enough for man, nor beast, nor Spock."

"Doctor McCoy, you are once again demonstrating an unfortunate susceptibility to dramatic expression," Spock said. "The cold and damp are minor discomforts, and not dangerous."

"You should be wearing a coat," said the doctor, "or a sweater; do you own a cardigan?"

Spock replied, "According to Starfleet regulation, officers on duty wear dress grays during formal dinners. In the field, a standard uniform is acceptable; a cardigan is not."

"Well, I hope you feel good about putting protocol above practicality when your blood freezes solid," McCoy snapped.

"Dr. McCoy," began Spock.

The captain interrupted. "Spock's right, Bones. People stop listening when you say things like that."

"Formal dinner? That was no dinner. I'm not sure you would call it a meal, honestly." Scott's voice was muffled by the nestle which had molded to support his head.

Sulu pushed one of the Aderielan side tables close to the fire. It was long enough to serve as a bench and although still soft, firmer than a nestle. He took a seat. "I don't think you should call it food," he said. "I know they're trying to honor us by sharing, but it all tastes like flour. I'd rather eat our rations."

McCoy sat down next to Sulu but continued his discussion with Spock. "How 'bout long underwear? You could wear it under your uniform."

"Doctor, I do not require assistance to dress," Spock said firmly.

Kirk studied his first officer, eyes lingering on the unusually rigid set of his shoulders. Turning to Chekov, he said, "Go out to the yard. Get as many fuel sticks as you can carry. Use the back door and try to avoid the staff. I've had enough Aderielan visitors for today; I don't want them to come back and help."

The young man murmured an acknowledgment and scurried out the back entrance, the one that led to the embassy's work areas. The door banged loudly, caught by the wind as he left.

"I am going to make this place warm," Kirk announced, and kneeling by the pit, began to poke at the fuel cubes.

"That fire is primarily ceremonial," Spock said. His crossed arms made him appear slightly disapproving as he watched the captain from behind the others. "It is designed to represent hospitality, not to provide heat."

"Built for looks, not function," Scott agreed.

"Pretty but useless," Sulu added, "not unlike Aderiel."

"When I finish with this fire, they'll be able to feel it on the Enterprise," Kirk replied. He began carefully adding pressed fiber fuel sticks to the fire pit.

"Captain," Spock began.

"Hyperbole Spock," Kirk said quickly. "I know they won't feel it on the Enterprise." He paused, waiting for the last piece to ignite before adding more. "Take a seat. I think you'll be impressed."

"That is unlikely," Spock said. "A single fire is an inefficient way to heat a room this large." He sounded calm, disinterested even.

Kirk stood up and walked purposely to the room's single wooden chair. It looked of place among the gelatinous Aderielan furniture. The ambassadors had it delivered when they noticed Spock avoided the nestles. Kirk dragged it to the edge of the pit, pointing to it, and said firmly, "Take a seat, commander."

When Spock complied, Kirk said, "The fire is not ideal, but we don't have much choice. There's no other heat system. The Aderielans don't consider this weather unpleasant."

"I do not believe captain, that you will successfully warm this room," Spock replied.

"Well, now you've challenged him," Scotty said, sliding his boots off and dangling his stockinged feet at the very edge of the pit.

"I am going to build this fire up, and we are going to be warm," the captain said confidently. He took a large fuel cube and shoved it deep into the rocks lining the bottom of the pit so that only half of it showed. He reached back for another cube and placed it at the opposite angle, so that it leaned against the first, forming a triangle. Finally, he grabbed the last of the small cubes and dropped them into the flames at its base. They glowed lavender, then ignited.

Chekov pushed through the door with an armful of fuel cubes. He dropped them next to Kirk. They clattered like bells hitting concrete. Sulu frowned.

"Good man, Chekov," Scotty called from the depths of his chair.

"Careful playing with those things," McCoy said skeptically. "God only knows what sort of burn treatments these people have. The Aderiel are so in their heads; they'd probably expect us to sit and consider the implications of healing instead of doing something practical."

Kirk ignored him and asked, "These are split. Are there any whole ones out there?" When Chekov nodded, he continued, "Go get me the largest one you can carry." The young man hurried away.

Muttering to himself, the doctor got up and went to one of the sleep compartments that lined the circular room. He poked about, then returned holding a blanket which he dropped on the first officer's lap. Spock raised an eyebrow but did not comment. McCoy returned to the bench.

The back door slammed against the building. Chekov staggered in. He reached for the door's handle and dropped the enormous fuel cube he carried. It crashed to the floor. Chekov kicked it towards the captain, but it skidded sideways, hitting a table with a clang. Sulu snapped, "Pav, stop making so much noise."

Chekov nodded absently and pushed the cube to the captain, who said, "See the little frame I built? Help me lean that on it. It will be burning hard when the frame collapses, and hopefully, the big log will burn all night."

"It is not a log," Spock began.

"Fuel cube," the captain quickly corrected himself. "Hopefully the fuel cube will burn all night, and we won't be miserable."

"That'll be the day," McCoy muttered.

"No, it'll be the night Bones, and you should have some confidence," the captain said. "I know what I'm doing."

Chekov helped him set the unwieldy cube gently in the middle of the fire, with one edge balanced on the frame. Sparks flew, but the supports held, and slowly, the pale purple flames began to grow.

"The structure holds it up, so the log doesn't smother the flame. It's not easy to get something that big to burn," Kirk explained. Chekov nodded.

"He knows how to make a fire," Sulu said. There was a pause, then he added, "sir."

"Do you?" asked Kirk. "Why don't you tell me when I show you how to do things you already know how to do?

Chekov shrugged, "Maybe you do it differently, and I will learn something."

"Good point, maybe I do," Kirk agreed. "Did you hear that Sulu?"

"Because there are so many ways to make a fire," Sulu said. After a pause, he added, 'sir." After another pause, he said, "I'm sorry, it's just, I checked my chronometer. Do you realize we've been here eleven Aderiel lunar cycles?"

"Does the exact number matter?" grunted McCoy, "We've been here too long, we all agree."

"Eleven cycles corresponds to seventeen Earth days," Sulu explained. "Do you know what that means?"

"That this mission is dull as dirt?" asked McCoy.

"Give it a rest Bones. If I had left you aboard, you would be complaining up there. I don't know about what, but I know you. You'd find something about the orbit around a peaceful planet you couldn't stand. Why can't you just enjoy this?" asked the captain.

"Enjoy what?" asked McCoy. "Conversation with an Aderielan is like watching cows chew their cud. Your negotiations are going nowhere. Still, you have a task, which makes you luckier than the rest of us. We spend every day sitting on giant marshmallows in a cold, drafty room waiting for you to come to tell us nothing happened. All the food tastes like paint, the climate is lousy, our hosts are dull, and there is nothing to do. In the last eleven, or seventeen, or whatever, days. I've read so much I've got eye strain."

"We're mostly out of the weather, and I am giving free lessons in things people already know how to do, what more could you ask?" Kirk laughed. He rolled a nestle between Scotty and Spock and sat down. He pushed into it hard with his elbows so that it formed armrests, which he grasped like it was a throne.

"Don't knock the chairs, Len," Scott laughed. "I'm taking one of these giant marshmallows back with me when we finish here. They're very supportive."

McCoy started to reply, but Sulu interrupted. "Do you realize," he asked, "that it is Christmas?"

"It is?" Chekov asked, then counted on his fingers. "Merry Christmas!" he said delightedly.

"Merry Christmas Chekov," McCoy said glumly. "God bless us, every one."

"That is a nice thought," Chekov said enthusiastically.

McCoy snorted and shook his head, Sulu sighed. Kirk and Scotty laughed. Chekov looked confused, "It is a nice thing to say."

"Yes Chekov, it is," said the captain. "Could you say it?"

"Say what, sir?"

"What the doctor just said, could you say it too?"

"Yes sir, God bless,"

"Wait," the captain said. He grabbed a tricorder, pointed it at the lieutenant and said, "Okay go."

"Jim," snapped the doctor, at the same time that Sulu said, "Sir."

The captain sighed and set the tricorder down.

"I don't understand why this is funny," Chekov said. He had stayed close to the fire, sitting on the edge of the pit.

Scotty said, "I suppose this means we've missed the party?"

"Yes, we missed it," Sulu said. "We missed everything."

"No," Kirk said firmly. "Brennen didn't mention it during her report."

"Entertainment for the crew would hardly be considered information that needed to be relayed to the captain while he is on an important diplomatic mission," Spock said.

"Important?" Sulu muttered. Beside him, McCoy chuckled.

"They wouldn't have the holiday party without me," the captain insisted. "I'm the life of it. They'll have it after we get back, whenever that is." All around him his officers exchanged looks.

"Where is Nyota when we need her?" Sulu asked quietly.

"Lieutenant Uhura is in the quarters provided by the Aderielan embassy for the female crew members. Members of this society consider it inappropriate for mixed-sex groups to sleep in the same building, even within a family or clan unit," Spock said.

"Yes, sir," Sulu said.

The doctor said, "Sulu knows where Uhura is, Spock. He meant Uhura should be here to remind the captain that no matter how important he feels, he is not the reason people celebrate Christmas."

"I don't think I'm the reason for Christmas. I do think I'm the most fun part of the Enterprise's Christmas party, mostly because of my ability to recognize hilarious when I see it." The captain paused, then picked up the tricorder, pointed it, and whispered, "Say it."

Smiling Chekov chanted, "God bless us, every one."

"Got it," said the captain, closing the tricorder. "That is so going on a big screen at the party."

"Pav," moaned Sulu, shaking his head.

"It is a very nice sentiment," Chekov said firmly. "I still do not understand why it is funny."

Spock said, "Captain, it is not a Christmas party. The vast majority of beings in the universe and a large percentage of the crew of the Enterprise do not celebrate Christmas at all."

"It's Christmas for me," McCoy replied.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Of those individuals that do celebrate Christmas, fully half consider it a summer holiday. The party on the Enterprise was designed to acknowledge the many winter festival traditions of the crew and facilitate the pleasure many species experience from repetitions of childhood activities."

"I'm guessing not Vulcans," the doctor said.

"No doctor. It is not logical to attempt to recreate past experiences."

McCoy sputtered, "Spock, you hob..." He paused, looked pleased and said, "No, no, no, not today. In honor of the season, Merry Christmas Spock, you pointy-eared elf."

Spock did not acknowledge the barb, but Chekov said, "In Russia, the elves do not mind the cold."

"Pavel, don't start," Sulu said. "Because, if you do, I won't be able to be polite, and while we are at it, don't mention this not being so bad because at least we are together, or that it's great to get off the ship or anything about Aderiel being picturesque. In fact, do not say any of the stupid platitudes I know are running through your head right now."

Chekov nodded.

"You were going to say those things weren't you?" asked Kirk.

Chekov smiled sheepishly and nodded again.

Scott and the captain laughed, and the doctor snorted.

Scott said, "You know Sulu, not everyone considers optimism a character flaw."

"Sir," said Sulu, "it's cold here. It's boring. Our holiday feast consisted of the same spit temperature glue we ate yesterday and are going to eat tomorrow. The Aderielan delegates cannot make their minds up about anything, and there is no reason to think any of it is going to change. Pretending it isn't bad isn't optimistic, it's fantasy."

Kirk said, "I thought we'd all be back aboard in plenty of time for the party. I'd let you leave, but Uhura says the Aderiel understand you as my family so I can't call for replacements. You all have to stay here to demonstrate how much I trust them. I realize this isn't much of a holiday."

"It is not a Vulcan holiday," Spock said, arranging the blanket so that it covered a little more of his legs.

McCoy added. "At the risk of sounding optimistic," he glanced at navigator, "it doesn't matter to me. Christmas is just another work day. I wasn't going home, and I wasn't expecting much in my stocking this year."

"Well, as for that, I think I might be able to provide a little cheer," Scotty said slowly. "Run fetch my pack lad," he added.

Chekov hurried to the chamber assigned to Scott and returned with a standard-issue Starfleet pack. Scott rummaged in it and pulled out a canvas bag which he opened carefully, displaying a glass bottle.

"Yes, yes, yes," laughed the captain. "Suddenly, things are looking up."

"You're a good man Scotty," McCoy said.

"You haven't tasted it yet Len, but when you do, I think you'll find I'm an excellent man," Scott said. He looked over at Chekov, "Do you think you could find us some glasses?"

"Yes sir," Chekov said. The door slammed behind him as he started across the windy courtyard to the kitchen in the embassy's base.

Sulu frowned. "Why can't he close a door?" he asked.

"Do you ever think," McCoy asked, "that we should maybe divide the work more evenly?"

"Then what would be the use of having junior officers?" laughed Kirk, poking again at the fire.

"Seriously," Sulu said, "shouldn't one of you explain the procedure? Wouldn't that be considered an important part of his education?"

It took several minutes, but soon the door banged, and Chekov appeared with five small, silvery glasses. The engineer lined them up, then opened the bottle and took an appreciative sniff. While Scott poured, Chekov offered the first officer a round flask.

"I do not consume alcoholic beverages," Spock said.

"No sir, I mean, yes sir. It's tea. I thought you might like something warm, and this way, we can all drink together," Chekov said.

Spock raised an eyebrow. McCoy snapped, "For God's sake Spock, it's a tradition on Earth to share refreshments at Christmas. Just this once, unbend and join us. You might even find you like it."

"Doctor, you have misinterpreted my hesitation. I was considering how best to acknowledge Mr. Chekov's kindness." Spock reached for the flask and said, "Thank you."

Looking pleased, Chekov hurried over to help Scott.

"Here now," Scotty said, "this is for the doctor. Give this to Sulu and this to the captain. Now, take one for yourself. Careful not to spill, it's a sadly small bottle."

Once the glasses were handed around, Scott said, "Ordinarily, I'd drink to the speedy conclusion of the mission, but, this time, I think we should drink to the day. Glasses up gentlemen, flask up for you Mr. Spock. Merry Christmas."

There was a clink of glass, and voices echoed, "Merry Christmas!"

"That's good Scotty," Kirk said.

"I love the way it feels," Chekov said thoughtfully, then added more cheerily, "This is fun. Thank you, Mr. Scott."

Sulu gave him a disgusted look.

"I am sorry you are sad," Chekov said.

"I'm not sad," Sulu said firmly.

"You are not sad to be away from Demora today?" Chekov asked.

"I just said I wasn't," Sulu replied.

"Your actions say different," Scott said.

Sulu frowned at him and said haughtily, "I'm annoyed to be spending another night doing nothing on a wet, cold planet in the middle of nowhere."

"Doesn't matter though," the doctor said quietly.

"What?" Sulu asked, then corrected himself, "I beg your pardon, sir."

"I've never found the climate that helps me miss Joanna any less on holidays," McCoy said, holding his glass up to the fire.

Sulu asked, "Still?"

"You don't get used to not being with your kid Sulu, sorry," McCoy said.

Sulu frowned at the fire.

"To hell with it," Scott said. "Hand me your glasses." He topped them up, emptying the bottle as he did so. "Sip it this time," he directed, "slowly."

They did, staring quietly into the fire until McCoy broke the silence by saying, "At her age, she's going to prefer the box to any of the gifts."

"You're right," Sulu said, "she will, and I won't see it." There was a long pause, and then he added, "Guess what Pav, you're right too. How often does that happen?"

"It happens frequently," Chekov muttered, "it is seldom acknowledged, however." Beside him, the captain laughed.

A particularly strong blast shook the door. The wind whistled sharply, the flames fluttered. Once it died down, Sulu said, "This is easily the worst Christmas I ever had."

"Well, it's not great," McCoy admitted. "I don't know as I would say worst."

"It'll be everyone's worst if I find out they had the party without me," the captain mused.

Scott said, "Mr. Sulu, I have some advice for you, from the pen of Mr. Robert Burns no less. You'd do well to take it to heart." He sat up straighter, cleared his throat, raised his glass and recited, "'Here's a bottle and an honest man-What would ye wish for mair man?'"

"Which means what?" McCoy asked.

Scotty gave him a disgusted look, "Which means we're drinking excellent whisky with charming people. The day's not that bad."

Chekov smiled and held his glass up over his head. Scotty leaned forward to tap it with his own.

"Exactly," the captain said, joining the salute.

Sulu shook his head and smiled, "Not to insult your national poet sir, but, here's my toast," He copied Scott's posture and said, "I miss my child and her other dad, I consider this Christmas really bad."

McCoy chuckled. "I'll drink to that," he said and tapped Sulu's raised glass.

"That was great!" Chekov said. 'How do you think of it so fast?"

Sulu drank again and then said, "I was inspired by today, my worst Christmas ever." He looked at his friends and added, "At warp speed, I'm weeks away from my family. I just spent two hours pretending to enjoy a meal of plaster and chalk, and it's cold in here. How could it be worse? I challenge any of you to top it."

"Young man, I'm a doctor. I've spent Christmas day up to my elbows in other people's pus-filled intestines."

"Geez Bones," said the captain, "kind of puts 'once missed a bus and had to eat Christmas Eve dinner alone at the dorm' in a weak light."

"Ha! Pus-filled intestines, I've got three words for him," Scott said to Chekov. "Delta Damn Vega. Splitting old ration packs with Keenser is no way to celebrate anything."

"Worst Christmas ever," Sulu repeated. "I loved Christmas when I was a kid. Didn't you?"

"Yeah, sure," the captain said with a shrug.

"You can't stay a kid forever," McCoy said. "I know this is hard Sulu. I wish I could say it gets better, but I miss my daughter today as much as I did when she was three. The holidays are hard when you aren't with your family."

"We all have families, and none of us are with them," Scott said dismissively. "It's the life we chose."

Sulu continued, "I know, but all my life I looked forward to being the dad at Christmas."

"She has two," Chekov said reassuringly.

"So?" Sulu asked.

"You can feel better knowing Ben will take care of her," Chekov explained.

Sulu narrowed his eyes. "You're missing the point. I want to do it. When I was a kid, Christmas was always perfect, and it was just the start. Every year Dad took a two-week vacation, and we went away as a family. He ordinarily worked so much, almost all my fun memories of him are from Christmas trips."

"Is this about the girl or himself?" Scott whispered to Chekov, who shrugged.

Sulu said stiffly, "The point is, I remember when he gave me my first surfboard. I want to make Demora happy like that."

"You seriously got a surfboard for Christmas?" the captain asked.

Sulu nodded, "And a trip to Hawaii with lessons while we were there. We always got great presents."

"So did we, but it wasn't ever Hawaii," McCoy said.

"What did you get?" asked Sulu.

"Hmm, I got a fly pole once from my daddy."

"That's nice Bones," Kirk said.

"I gave one to Joanna when she was eight," McCoy sounded wistful.

"I'm sure she loved it," Scott said.

"Her stepfather gave her a pony that year. She didn't notice a fishing pole."

"Wow," Kirk said.

The doctor smiled crookedly, "Well, never mind about that. What about you Scotty? What was your favorite gift?"

"Probably my budgie Rocco. Marvelous bird, used to whistle when I came in the door."

Sulu asked, "How about you captain?"

"Hm, I've still got a flashlight my brother gave me one year, so I guess that makes it my favorite gift."

"Pav?" Sulu asked.

"Wait, wait," the captain said. "Let me guess, a dragon bot."

Chekov gave him an odd look. "Why would you think I wanted a dragon bot?"

"Did you?" asked Scott.

When Chekov didn't reply Kirk said, "Well, I always wanted a dragon bot."

"Big surprise," McCoy said. "You wanted something to fly around and fight battles with. Some things never change, which is why I bet Chekov's favorite gift was some sort of junior engineer building kit."

"No," laughed Chekov, "although that sounds great. I think maybe, I still want that."

"I'll keep that in mind. What was your favorite gift past tense?" laughed McCoy.

Forehead wrinkled, Chekov said uncertainly, "Credits?"

"Credits? That wouldn't count. Money is not a proper gift," Scotty scoffed.

"Why not?' asked Chekov.

Scott said, "Money fits everyone, a good gift should be for just you."

"Oh," Chekov said thoughtfully.

"How about a toy, or skates? What do you remember?" asked the doctor.

Sulu interrupted. "Let's not go into that."

"You do realize it isn't his fault your daughter isn't here?" Scotty asked.

"Sir, do you ever actually listen when he starts reminiscing about Russia?" Sulu replied. "I am depressed enough."

Scotty snorted, then said, "Answer the question Chekov."

Chekov looked at Sulu, who shrugged. Chekov turned to McCoy and said, "I wouldn't have asked for things like that doctor. I lived at school, at schools I mean. Storage was limited." He added cheerfully, "It prepared me well for Starfleet, right? I still have no room, and it does not bother me."

Sulu sighed. Scott eyed him skeptically, then turned deliberately to the group. "It's interesting, but I remember my worst presents better. My gran sent us horrible character building pamphlets from her church every year, and my mother made us write her a thank you note before we played with anything. I hated it at the time, but now I remember it fondly."

"I know just what you mean," laughed McCoy, "I get socks, hand knit by my mother, and very uncomfortable. I never wear them, but I never get rid of them. I've got a whole box of them stowed in my locker."

"I got retroactive school uniforms one year," Chekov said. "I do not remember them fondly."

"Retroactive?" Kirk asked.

Chekov shrugged. "I had been wearing them since September, so they weren't new."

Sulu shook his head, muttering to himself under his breath. The other humans laughed. The captain said, "I'm not even going to try and compete, this one you win. Who would think that was a good idea?"

"I kept changing schools, they all had different uniforms, and it got expensive. One year my aunt said she'd spent enough. It didn't bother me. When they heard about my Christmas gift, my uncles felt bad and sent me money, which," he looked mischievously at Sulu.

"Is what you wanted anyway, cute Pav. What about you Mr. Spock, did your family celebrate?" Sulu asked.

"He already said it's not a Vulcan holiday," McCoy said.

Spock pursed his lips, then spoke slowly. "There is no comparable Vulcan holiday. However, my mother honored the traditions of her own family and prepared small tea cakes which she shared with members of my father's clan. While a child, I occasionally assisted her in the preparation and delivery."

"Christmas cookies," McCoy said with satisfaction.

"Honestly, I like the cookies better than the presents," the captain said.

"I have a great idea," Chekov announced. "In Russia, the big holiday is New Years. We can have a party then."

"Why bother?" Sulu said.

"Really? Christmas is secondary?" Scott asked.

Chekov nodded. "In my village, Christmas was another day to go to church; New Years was for fun. But in the city, my aunts copy the European traditions and celebrate both."

"We could do that," Kirk agreed.

"Ben makes great cookies," Sulu said softly. He frowned at the fire, then drained his glass and said, "I'm going to bed." He stood up and started to his chamber.

"Merry Christmas," Scotty called.

"Yeah, yeah," Sulu replied, without looking back. "God bless us, every one."

"I still do not see why that is funny," Chekov said, then added, "If you give me the glasses, I will wash them." He slipped them into Scott's pack and left for the main building, allowing the door to slam behind him.

McCoy watched him go, shaking his head. "Exercise is good for him," Scott said placatingly, "he gets nervous sitting still so much."

McCoy snorted, then said. "It's too cold for you here at night, Spock. Sleep by the fire."

Spock rose slowly, clutching the blanket. "The environment is not ideal," he said, "special accommodations, however, are not necessary."

"Suit yourself. You're pigheaded, and I am not going to argue with you." McCoy said.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "That, doctor, is the best gift I have ever received." He walked stiffly toward his assigned sleeping area.

"Did he just make a joke?" asked Kirk.

"It's a Christmas miracle," McCoy replied. "What about you Scotty?"

"Oh, I'm definitely sleeping here," Scott replied, stretching out in his nestle.

"Add more wood if you get cold," Kirk instructed, starting for his chamber. The doctor gave one more doubtful glance to the fire; then he too left for bed.


	2. The Worst Christmas on the Moor

He lay still and enjoyed the patterns the flames threw on the wall. He was drowsy but fought sleep. He wanted to stay awake until Chekov got back.

 _The Aderiel seem harmless, but sometimes these beings hide their true selves. For all we know, they could be zombies. They would be the first intelligent, conversational, meditation practicing zombies on record, but it wouldn't do for the boy to have to take on a compound of them alone. I'll rest here where it's warm, but if I hear anything out of the usual, I'll run right out._

Satisfied, he kicked another fuel cube into the fire and watched it flame. He glanced at the empty bottle and sighed. He seldom traveled without a little something, and that one had been particularly fine. He'd miss it if the mission went much longer.

 _Not that I regret it. There's no better use for whisky than sharing it with good friends, today of all days. Still, it was wasted on Sulu; he'd clearly decided not to enjoy himself. The holidays don't bring out the best in him. He was the same that year on the ship, aimless complaints about things he couldn't change._ _I've no objection to his being miserable if that's what he wants, but I've no desire to join in._

The wind whistled especially noisily, sounding like it agreed. He grinned and stretched his legs toward the flames. _Could anyone seriously consider this the worst Christmas ever? It's a bit cold, but anyone who believes Aderiel miserable has never experienced Aberdeen in winter. Yes,_ he thought, _our Mr. Sulu has never spent Christmas caught in a downpour high in the hills while wishing desperately for a little dinner._

He closed his eyes, just to remember a little better.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Granny stared from the cube, thin mouth set, eyes hard, and said, "I've had a premonition of my death."

Dad choked back a laugh. Ma slapped at him under the table and asked, "Are you ill, Mother?"

"Not yet," Granny replied. "I'm not sure of the when, but it's coming. I want the family together one last time."

"We'll be together at the funeral, surely," Dad whispered. "Wouldn't that do just as well?" Ma narrowed her eyes at him warningly.

Granny continued, "I hope to enjoy my family one last time before they lay me in the ground. I am aware there are some that won't miss me, but you've always been a good daughter Mary. I wanted to give you this chance so that you won't have any regrets later. Come for Christmas. We don't celebrate as you do in the cities, as you well know, but I think it will be easier since the children's school will be closed. Let me know when to expect you."

Granny broke the connection abruptly. Ma looked speculatively at Dad. "Well, that was a new tactic. I suppose we have no choice but to go," she said.

"We certainly do," Dad replied. "I told you last time, never again."

"I know she's not really ill, but clearly she's lonely. My sisters will be there. It would be rude to refuse to join them."

"Our children deserve a decent Christmas, not one spent with religious fanatics in the dankest, darkest corner of the world," Dad insisted.

"Our children," Ma mocked. "You're not worried about them Jack Scott. You know my parents have a dry home. You're afraid of Christmas without anything to drink."

His father made a scoffing noise but didn't argue.

"You know my mother was referring to you when she said that 'some that won't miss me,' bit, don't you?"

"Mary, the children deserve to enjoy Christmas, I'm concerned for them," Dad repeated, but wasn't able to control his smile, and as usual, his parents ended their argument laughing.

On December 24th, they headed west. His father had refused to sleep at the farm, so his mother had arranged rooms at the inn owned by her brother-in-law. It was a nice place, located in the tiny town below the farm. It had a pub and served food. They spent Christmas Eve with his grandparents and had dinner, but there was another meal waiting when they got back to the pub. His Uncle Mike explained his father had ordered it before they left.

Ma said accusingly, "You ate at the farm, Jack Scott."

"That wasn't dinner," Dad replied. "That was wilted greens and a tiny piece of overcooked rabbit on an otherwise empty plate. Not to mention I'm exhausted. It's a lot of work not to argue with your dad. I need to replenish after my efforts."

His mother pretended disgust, but when his dad patted the seat next to him, she took it. He and Mav joined them, and the four of them started in on the fried fish. Soon Uncle Mike sat down, and he and his dad traded stories of the horrible meals they'd endured at their mother in law's table. His mom laughed till she had to wipe her eyes. As it got later, her sisters came in with their husbands and children and the room was noisy with happy relatives.

"See," Dad said, "this is fine. This is good. I wouldn't mind coming up here if we could just do this, but every single holiday held captive by your ma as she goes on about the end times is no way to spend Christmas."

"Hear, hear!" the uncles yelled.

"If it makes you unhappy you should have stayed home. I wouldn't have minded," Ma declared.

"But darling," Dad said, "I couldn't enjoy my holiday without you."

His aunts cheered, and his parents kissed. He noticed Uncle Mike glance at Uncle Pete and quietly say, "Oh, I think you could," but didn't think much about it at the time.

Uncle Mike asked Dad to help him bring another round. They spent such a long time talking behind the bar that Ma asked what they were discussing so seriously. Mike replied, "Rabbits Mary, Jack wants to make you a stole," then nodded to Dad and refilled the pitchers. The evening continued, with laughing, and more silliness until he couldn't keep his head up, then he'd gone up to bed.

He lay under the warm bedclothes on Christmas morning and thought how unfair it was that he wasn't home. He could hear his parents talking in the next room but paid no attention until he caught his name. He sat up and concentrated hard, trying to make out every word.

"What about Monty?" asked Ma.

"I said let him sleep. He's exhausted," replied Dad. "In fact, I have an idea. Why don't you and Mav take the transport and go on ahead? I will wait here, and Monty and I can come up later."

"What's the sense of that?" Ma asked suspiciously.

"Monty needs his rest. You know how fast he's growing." He lay down immediately, pulled the bedclothes over his head and closed his eyes, willing to stay in bed all day if it meant he could spend less time at Granny's.

Dad continued, "I'll walk up with him as soon as he's awake and eaten his breakfast. The exercise will do him good, and you and your sisters can use the time to visit. We'll be there well before dinner."

"Are you sure?" asked Ma."It's threatening rain; I don't want you caught in it."

"Montgomery and I are Scottish men," Dad said. "I think we can bear a little rain. You go on now, enjoy your family."

He heard his mother explain the plan to Mav, who didn't complain nearly as much as he would have. Then he heard them call for the transport. He heard it pull up on the street and his sister calling a goodbye. After they left he listened to his father whistling as he went down the hall toward the pub. He lay abed until noon. It was a wonderful morning.

When he finally wandered down, he found his dad sitting at the bar with Uncle Mike. Uncle Pete was behind it, wiping at the tap. That was unusual. Pete was a farmer.

"Can I have something to eat?" he asked.

"I'm sorry Monty; it's Christmas, the grill is closed," Mike replied. "The only place in town you could get a meal now would be over at MacPherson's."

"MacPherson's," Dad said, "and you say it's way down the road?"

"That's right," Pete said, nodding his head. "It's around the hill, at the very end of Applecross. You can't miss it."

"MacPherson never closes," Mike added.

"I don't want to walk all that way. I'm hungry now," he said.

"We'll be at your granny's in under an hour; you can wait that long. Although, just to be on the safe side, why don't you call your ma and tell her how hungry you are? Ask her to tell granny so she can warm something up for you." His dad winked at Pete as he spoke.

He asked, "Why do we have to walk? Can't we ride up with you Uncle Mike?"

"Sadly son, I'm not going this year."

"You're not going? How did you get out of it?" he asked.

'He's not getting out of anything," Dad said solemnly. "He'll be working all day."

Mike nodded. "There's so much to do when you're a landlord, Monty. You can't appreciate it. The whole place needs a good cleaning. I can't ever do it when there are people in here. I have to take advantage of this opportunity. Your aunt Peg and the kids went up with your ma. Pete's agreed to stay and help me, or I wouldn't get done in just one night. I explained to Granddad that I would be working, and he gave his blessing. Your grandfather is a great fan of work you know."

"Good of you to help out, Peter," Dad said.

"Well, Mike's family. For the family, I do what I can," Uncle Pete replied.

"Did you hear that Monty? Your family's always there, remember that son," Dad said and nodded seriously to his brothers in law.

He was a little suspicious. Without the uncles, Dad would have to endure Grandad alone. But instead of being upset, Dad seemed perfectly happy, excited even.

Dad finished his drink and said, "Get your coat Monty, then comm your mother and tell her we're leaving. Make sure to mention how hungry you are."

He grabbed his coat, angry and unable to resist mentioning it but afraid to do it very loudly. It wasn't fair. He shouldn't even have to spend the holiday up here in the hills. It was Granny's fault, or Dad's, or maybe Ma's.

His father ignored his complaints and handed him a scarf. He tied it tightly around his neck and thought that really, it was all of their faults, but he was suffering for it.

His dad pulled on his cap, and buttoned his coat, then called goodbye to his uncles, and they left the pub. He started resentfully after his father, marching out of the town and toward Granny's house in the hills. Dad reminded him to call his mother, and he did as instructed. When she asked, he happily complained about being hungry, and the wind.

"Perhaps it's too cold; maybe it would be better for you to look around for someone to give you a ride," she said. "Let me speak with your father."

He felt a surge of hope, but his father dashed it by insisting they were fine, looking forward to the walk, and would be there for dinner. "We'll be there soon, Mary," Dad said, then closed the communicator.

He eyed his father angrily.

"Buck up boy, we've got an unpleasant hour in front of us," Dad said, and walked on, whistling "I Saw Three Ships" cheerfully.

When they got a little higher in the hills the threatened rain appeared, big angry drops that stung his face.

"Call your mother Monty," Dad urged. "Tell her we're getting wet, and ask her to put the tea things on. Be sure and mention how much we are looking forward to being there."

He did as instructed. Ma asked to speak to his father. He handed the communicator to the older man. He could hear his mother's voice, not the words, but her tone, sounding worried.

"No, no my love, I couldn't bear to be apart for a holiday," Dad said. "We're enjoying our walk, and we'll be there soon." Dad made kissing sounds to the screen, then closed the communicator.

"I am not enjoying this," he moaned.

Dad replied, "Good things are worth enduring a little discomfort for Monty," and kept walking.

In half an hour it was snowing, not hard, but his hat and boots were already soaked, and soon he could no longer feel his ears. His father asked for the communicator and called his mother.

"Mary," Dad said, "it's snowing love. We'll be later than we thought. No, don't worry, we're fine. But I wanted you to know so that you wouldn't worry. No, I promise, we're fine. I will call again soon and let you know how much longer we'll be."

Dad closed the comm and pointed to his right. "This way," he said.

He shook his head, wet snow tumbling off him. "No Dad. Granny is west, at the top of the hill, that path will take us around it."

"I think I know my way to my mother-in-law's house Monty, now don't argue, just keep up," Dad said and started down the wrong path.

He considered going on the right way but was afraid to leave his father. He worried some harm might come to the old man if he left him alone on the moor. After a brief internal argument, he gave up and trudged east following Dad. _Of course_ , he thought angrily. _It is also possible some harm might come to me. We might both get lost. We'll starve and be buried by the snow. They won't find our wasted corpses until spring. We'll be huddled together, dead. I hope that will satisfy him._

He checked the time. They had walked an hour, longer than they should have, much farther he was sure than if they had done as he suggested and kept climbing.

"Dad," he said, "this isn't a proper path. It's nothing but some sheep's trail. It leads nowhere. We should turn back. If we go back to the fork and go up, we'll get there."

"I know what I am doing," Dad said. "This way is longer, but it's out of the wind. It's more comfortable."

 _Out of the wind,_ he thought. _Nothing on this island is out of the wind._ The ground was beginning to freeze, and he stumbled a few times in ruts left by hooves, but he kept walking.

The snow continued to fall, making hats on the heather and other bushes. He had to stop to brush it off his shoulders several times. His coat had gotten wet in the rain and now felt stiff and icy under his hands.

The trek seemed endless. He was very cold and began to wonder if he should insist on turning back. He couldn't bring himself to start and forced himself to walk on, following in his father's footsteps.

Suddenly, his father stopped. He stepped around the older man, expecting to see another mountain. But in the distance were the lights of a small town. He could make out the faint outline of a building. It seemed much too big to be any building on granny's farm.

"I think maybe we've come to a town Dad," he said. "Look ahead there. It's a building with lights on."

"Did we?" asked Dad mildly. "Well, let's go see what we can see."

The snow had made the distance deceiving. It was less than a quarter mile, and downhill. They came soon to the outskirts of a small town. Dad stopped and pointed to the big building he'd seen from the hill. "Well," he said. "Will you look at that. I better call your mother."

Dad reopened the communicator. "Mary dear," he said. "I hope you weren't worried. It was snowing fiercely. I didn't call, because I was afraid your dad would insist on coming to look for us, and it just wasn't safe. I couldn't see an inch in front of my face."

"Yes you could," he interrupted. It had snowed steadily, but not hard, the wind had been much worse a problem.

His father turned his back and continued to speak. "That was Monty; he wants you to know he's fine. We're both fine. I promise. But here's our problem Mary. We got a little lost up there, in the hills. I got desperate to get the boy to safety and followed some lights, I hoped it was your father's place, but it turns out we've come the wrong way. We're going to stay the night here. They know Pete, a family named MacPherson, they're willing to put us up. I'll walk back to the inn in the morning and get Pete to bring us up in the transport. You were right my love. We should have gone with you. It was a foolish idea I had. I'm so very sorry. What's that dear? Oh yes, I swear, we're fine. Disappointed, but fine. Don't worry. Can you forgive me, love? Well, that's wonderful Mary. I love you too dear. Make my apologies to your parents. I do. Yes, I will. Fine dear. Yes, I'll tell him. I love you too. Bye."

Dad closed the comm, slipped it into his pocket. Smiling as he grabbed his son's shoulder, he said, "Well, let's go in Monty, we've earned it."

He walked around to the front of the building. There was a sign above the door. He stepped closer to get a better look. Painted on wood was the single word, "MacPherson's." He looked up at Dad, who smiled and gestured for him to go ahead. He pushed the door open.

"You're letting in the cold!" someone roared. He stepped in. The air was wonderfully warm, and across the room, a fire was blazing. All around the bar were men of various ages. He saw his Uncle Mike, with Uncle Pete beside him. They raised a glass and called to his father, who had come in close behind.

"I told you I knew what I was doing," Dad said and put an arm over his shoulder. "Get out of those wet things Monty, by the grace of God, I think we've made it to safety."

"Grace of God, my foot," he muttered but pulled off his cap.

He hung up his coat and started to the bar. His dad said, "Your gifts are up at Granny's son, I'm sorry. You'll have to wait for them."

"Are you joking Dad? I'd rather have this than anything else," he said, holding his hands out to the fire.

His dad gestured for a glass, and Pete clapped his shoulder. Mike motioned to a seat, where there was a big bowl of steaming soup and a small glass of whisky.

Dad said, "I'm sorry to have ruined your Christmas Monty, but your willingness to make the most of it means the world to me. So, let's have at it, shall we? Oh and one last thing son, you'll be sure to tell your mother how this was the worst Christmas ever now, won't you?"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

His toes were itching from the heat. He pulled his legs back from the fire. They'd practiced their story, but Ma had only laughed at them when they tried to tell her it the next morning. She and her sisters had all laughed while their husbands hung their heads like schoolboys caught in a prank.

 _Poor Granny didn't die that year, but she did go eventually, and not much missed sadly. But that Christmas entered the family story trove, the worst Christmas that ended so well. An unexpected drink, with a fire and good friends, what could be better?_

His last complete thought, before he fell asleep was _, Sulu's worst Christmas and mine have a fair amount in common, actually. Of course, our interpretations differ._


	3. The Worst Christmas in Iowa

_Tonight, I don't let it get away from me,_ he told himself firmly. _We start the negotiations early tomorrow. I need to sleep._ _It's late. I had a drink. I should go right out._

He almost never slept well. No matter how he exhausted his body, his thoughts would never stop racing. Tonight was no different.

He pushed his finger into the chamber wall, testing to see how far he could sink it. The entire chamber was essentially a hollowed out nestle, made entirely of the conforming cushion.

 _I wonder why more species haven't conceived of wall to wall mattresses? It's a great idea. Maybe I should look into getting these for everyone on board. Although, would they work stacked in bunks?_

Bored, he flopped onto his back, staring into the dark.

 _So, it's Christmas,_ he thought. _I totally forgot._ _Of course, I don't care about the holidays, but most people do. Good of Scotty to bring out the whiskey, it broke up the routine, everyone relaxed. Or anyway, everyone but Sulu._ _I don't get that. We've been way worse places than Aderiel, and he's never complained._ _When he can't be high action fighter guy, he is stoic endurer guy._

 _It's usually Bones. He hates the holidays, all that goodwill floating around sticks in his craw, but he was pretty good, barely even picking on Spock. I started to relax, and suddenly, out of nowhere, Sulu starts whining._ _He_ _better pull it together and start suffering a little more silently, or I'm going to have to say something._

He rolled over.

 _Next year they can both have leave. Apparently, Christmas with the kiddies is important._

He knew it wouldn't be helpful to dwell much on family, so he flipped his pillow and told himself to think about the celebration on the Enterprise. He loved all-ship parties, seeing the whole crew happy, and knowing he'd made it happen.

 _The party is a big deal_ _. The yeomen wouldn't have it without me; they'd want me there to see it come together. We're going to_ _trick out the big rec hall with blinking symbols from every winter celebration the crew can suggest. Bones thought it was too much last time? Wait till he sees this year. Lights are the best thing about Christmas. I've always loved them._

He stirred restlessly, thinking, _I missed lights more than I missed Christmas._

They'd decorated when he was little. There were holos of his brother Sam and him in front of the tree. There were even a few with his mother, obviously taken Christmas morning. But once his mother had gone off planet, they'd stopped celebrating.

No lights had bothered him more than no tree. It was so much more public. Winter was dark out in the country, you could see Christmas lights, or their absence, from miles away. The other kids had discussed it at the stop while they waited for the school transport. They asked, in voices dripping with fake concern, what was wrong with them, why their house was always dark. Sam had made it into a joke, but after Sam left, he'd punched anyone who brought it up.

 _I tried to take care of it myself._

One year he'd stolen some lights and hung them up. He'd been standing in the snow, watching them blink when Frank came home. He'd been worried, but Frank only said, "It's not going to change anything Jimmy," and gone in.

 _Frank let me keep the lights on. Or more accurately, he didn't bother to take them down. And he was wrong. Inside, things didn't change, but for a little while, the house didn't look like an advertisement for unhappiness. That was something._

He reminded himself that thinking about his childhood virtually guaranteed he wouldn't sleep and directed his thoughts back to the ship. W _hile I'm in charge, we have lights._ _If they've already had a party, I'm going to do like Chekov said and throw one on New Year's. Everyone can come to my quarters. I'll hang lights from everything. I'll give out the presents then._

He had said he liked cookies better than presents. He'd meant he didn't like getting gifts and that hadn't always been true. He had enjoyed it until he'd figured out his mother. After she left, she'd sent wrapped packages for birthdays and Christmas. He'd loved showing them off, bragging about his mother, and making the kids at school jealous. Then one year she sent them replica Starfleet dress uniforms. They were far too small, and she'd given him the same thing for his birthday. He'd stared into the box and known she hadn't had him in mind; she just bought two of what the computer recommended when her calendar reminded her it was Christmas present buying time. He'd never shown the uniform to anyone. It was impossible to brag about a mother that had no idea what size he was.

 _Don't think about the past; it's useless. Think about now. We will have a great party, and everyone will love what I got them._

He hated to accept gifts, but he loved to give. He started looking in January, and when he saw the perfect thing, he bought it.

Probably because he was the hardest to get to know, Sulu was the hardest one for which to buy. This year, he'd made Giotto help him find a mek'leth for Sulu's weapon collection. Giotto had sounded kind of wistful describing it, so he'd bought one for the security chief too.

 _I can hardly wait to see their faces. I got Uhura that antique necklace with the star motif. She's going to love it. I'd have bought the earrings, but I couldn't stand being forced to listen to her explain her boundaries around appropriateness again. She better not say anything about the Vulcan spices for Spock. Yes, they were expensive, but anything left from the planet is now. Anyway, it's my money. Liquor for Scotty, as always. This year's find is exceptional. Bones insists he doesn't want anything, but he's never seen the reproductions of Audubon's engravings of southern fowl I got him. Wait till he does. Chekov, of course, is the opposite of Bones. I could hand Chekov an empty rations pack, and he'd be grateful. Like that stupid stuffed thing, I'm still embarrassed._

The Christmas on the ship, the one before Khan, the yeomen had planned a white elephant exchange for the ship party. They had insisted he choose first, provoking his usual panic at the prospect of presents. He'd grabbed something small off the top of the pile. He'd ripped it open and found a cheap stuffed toy. He hadn't even been sure what it was. Maybe a tribble; it was a pair of big eyes peering out of a body covered in curly hair. Inexplicably, he'd decided it looked just like Chekov. The teenager wasn't even there, McCoy had loudly barred him from drinking, so the ensign had told Darwin to stay and enjoy herself before heading up to the bridge to work a double.

 _Maybe I was a little drunk._

There didn't seem to be any other explanation for why he'd decided he had to give the thing to Chekov.

 _I thought I'd hand it to him; we'd laugh; maybe I'd clap him on the shoulder. I figured I'd look like a good guy and everyone would be happy. I should have known better._

He had stumbled coming out of the turbo lift. He'd pretended he had done it on purpose and called, "Season's Greetings boy genius," his voice echoing across the silent bridge. Chekov had looked nervously at Spock before managing to whisper an acknowledgment. From nearly every other station eye stalks had rotated to stare at him disapprovingly. Anyone capable of enjoying themselves had arranged coverage. The bridge that night had been staffed entirely with crew members who preferred not to party.

 _It's xenophobic to make assumptions based on planetary origin, but, it always seems the more insectoid a crew member is, the less likely they are to have a sense of humor. And of course, it wasn't that long after Nero, so Spock was still honoring his Vulcan heritage by being absolutely no fun whatsoever._ _I knew I'd made a mistake, but I thought it would look undignified to turn around and leave._ _It wasn't like it is now. Spock and I were still kind of sizing each other up._

 _Being surrounded by giant praying mantises really makes you question the appropriateness of a gag gift,_ _but I couldn't think of any other logical excuse for lumbering onto the bridge so soon after I'd said I would be in the rec area. I walked over to Chekov and muttered something about not wanting him to miss the fun. Then I shoved the package at him._ _It looked even cheaper and more stupid when I saw it again. Then, of course, Chekov took it seriously. Why couldn't he laugh?_

He shifted uncomfortably. Even in memory, gratitude disturbed him.

 _I felt horrible. I started blabbering that I'd have snacks sent up and pretty much ran to the lift. I hit the button and got the doors closed before Spock could finish informing me food is not allowed on the bridge._

He'd felt too guilty to go back to the party. Instead, he'd gone to his quarters _._

 _I remember being desperate to find something else, something reasonable, to give the kid. I even called Uhura to help. Scotty and Bones followed her. They brought a bottle. We never did find him a present, but it was the first real fun I'd ever had with Uhura, so, that was good._

He started to feel guilty again. _Don't do this_. _Thinking about bad times will keep me up all night. It ended well, and that's the important thing._ _This year, I've got something good for everyone, even Sulu, and today was great. We had that little party. Chekov loved it. That guy is unbelievable; he's still excited about everything. He pretty much is Tiny Tim, which is why the God Bless us thing was so hilarious, even though everyone else pretended it wasn't. Chekov was born to be happy, pretty much the opposite of me as a child. He would never have survived a Christmas on the farm, not even the good ones._

 _Were there good ones?_

Wishing he wouldn't, he began to recall Sam's last Christmas at home.

They'd stolen some presents. Not really presents, stuff, and not from people, out of a transport. The sheriff had come out to the house on Christmas Day and sent them outside so that the adults could have a little privacy. They'd gone around to the broken window and listened to the sheriff ask Frank about a burglary.

Sam had whispered, "Be prepared, Jimmy. We will need to be Frank's alibi because we'll have to go to foster care if he goes to jail. They'd walked around, working on their story. He'd been first to see the sheriff's transport, just sitting there. He'd known immediately what he wanted to do, and he didn't even have to explain. He'd just looked at his brother, and the two of them had taken off running.

The transport hadn't even been locked. They'd climbed in and started to look around. He had taken the lead, because although older, Sam had done less of that type of exploring. He had just said, "Don't touch anything, Sam," when he had seen a pocket knife lying on the floor in the front seat. It had been a nice one, with mother of pearl inlays. Thinking it had probably fallen out of some deputy's pocket, he had reached down and grabbed it.

He'd looked around a little longer, then gotten bored and jumped out. Sam had followed. They had only taken a few steps when he glanced back.

"Look," he'd said, pointing. Their footsteps had been visible in the snow, showing their path to and away from the transport.

"What do we do?" Sam had asked, sounding scared. He'd been in lots more trouble and had probably been afraid he'd get sent away if they got caught. Ironic, since he'd left on his own volition the next summer.

"Snow angels," he'd said, and had dropped to the ground, flailing his arms.

Sam hadn't understood at first and had just stood there watching, but he'd soon figured out that the snow angels obliterated their tracks nicely. There had been an additional benefit. They had seemed like fun loving, harmless little farm boys when the sheriff came out to ask them if Frank had been home last night.

"Yes sir," he'd said. "Frank stays home every night."

"He was helping with our homework," Sam had ad-libbed. Sam had never had a gift for lying. Kids don't do homework on Christmas Eve. The sheriff had looked a little skeptical, so he'd smiled his most endearing smile and asked the man to please, please, please, show them the patrol car. The man's suspicions had melted away, and he'd opened the door for them. They had pretended to be fascinated. After the tour, the sheriff had given them each a candy bar before he flew off.

They'd still been chewing on their candy when they got to the house.

"That cop give you those?" Frank had asked.

"Yes sir," he'd said.

Looking suspicious, Frank had asked, "What did you boys say to him?"

"Said you were home all last night helping with our homework," he'd replied.

Frank had given them a rare smile and handed them each a beer. "You're good boys," he'd said. "Merry Christmas."

"Jimmy's ten," Sam had said.

Frank had shrugged. "You want it, Jimbo? It's all I got."

"Yeah, sure," he'd said, reaching for the bottle. Frank had turned on the viewer. He and Sam had grabbed what was left of a bag of chips and gone up to their room.

He had tried the beer but hadn't liked the taste. He'd set it aside and said, "I wish we had something left to open. It would be more fun." They always opened everything as soon as it came. They didn't have to wait. They didn't celebrate.

"I got some cookies left," Sam had offered.

Their grandmother had sent a whole box of Christmas cookies. They had opened them and divvied them up before Frank got home. He probably wouldn't have interfered, but they were never sure.

"They're yours though Sam," he'd said. "That isn't fair."

"It's Christmas, and you're my little brother," Sam had said. "I'll share." He'd gone to his drawer and pulled out a cardboard box. He'd opened it and removed a dozen iced cookies. They'd sat on the floor, eating chips and stale cookies and drinking beer.

It had always been cold in their room. He'd slipped his hands into his jacket and felt something hard in his pocket. "I got a present for you, Sam," he'd announced, and handed the knife to his brother.

Sam had opened it and inspected all the blades. "That's amazing Jimmy, thank you," Sam had said, and he'd felt great, warm and happy. Then Sam had added, "I got something for you too." He went to his coat and came back with it bundled around something good sized.

"I'm sorry it's not wrapped better," Sam had said.

He'd rummaged through the coat and found a flashlight. It had been a good one, dark and heavy. It had several unusual features. It could blink rapidly through the entire spectrum, changing the color of light displayed. Sam had explained it was so if you fell down a hole and needed rescue and nobody with human eyes was around, you could still be seen.

"I got it out of that cop's transport," Sam had said, "so, don't show it around for a while. I don't want him to put two and two together."

He'd laughed. "Guess what?" he'd asked, "I got your knife there too!"

They'd had a good laugh about that. Then Sam had finished both beers, and they'd gone to sleep. He had hidden the flashlight under his bed and forgotten about it. He'd found it later, cleaning the room after Sam left. He'd used it a lot that summer, turning it on in the dark when he'd missed Sam too much.

He'd left it there when he'd gone. He'd done it on purpose. He'd wanted to leave some of his stuff, in case he needed an excuse to come back. Plus, he'd kind of sensed he shouldn't take things he cared about. He hadn't guessed how bad it would be, but he had never assumed it would be good.

Don't think about that; he reminded himself. _Think about anything else. Think about today._ _It was fun. Even Spock joined in, sort of. It was tea instead of whiskey, but he toasted. He's come a long way. Hard to imagine Spock as a little kid, really hard to imagine him making Christmas cookies. For that image alone I am grateful. I don't care what Sulu says; this was a great Christmas. If this is his worst one, he's been lucky. I've had way worse._

 _Don't think about it,_ he ordered himself. But it was too late.

He had stayed with his grandmother after he got back. Sam was in college by then, but he'd come down for the holiday. Frank had packed up the boys' things and sent them when the house sold. Grandma had gotten down the box and they'd gone through it.

 _The flashlight was there. I showed him, but he didn't remember._

He stared into the dark.

 _Weird, but that was my worst Christmas_.

 _I was back on Earth, and safe, and_ _surrounded by food. I was_ _with my family who insisted they loved me. But when Sam said he didn't remember, I felt ruined._

 _Tarsus didn't count. There was no time on Tarsus, there were hunger and terror and nothing else. My worst Christmas was realizing no one else remembered the good one when my brother and I exchanged stolen gifts while our stepfather drank himself into oblivion one floor below._

His pack was in the corner of the chamber. He reached in and pulled out a large flashlight. It felt substantial, professional. He turned it on, then set it to blink. _I love lights at Christmas,_ he thought.


	4. Time Can Not be Ranked

He sent his mind forth, seeking the peace that came from realigning the whole. Just as he began to transition to the meditative state, he saw his father. Sarek stood at a viewer reading, but looked up and turned as if in greeting. He opened his eyes and sat up, banishing the image and bumping his head on the soft roof of his sleep chamber. He stared into the dark, for the first time glad of the uncomfortable sleep chamber. Despite its many deficiencies, it did provide concealment. The vision had disturbed him more than he would want observed.

Vulcans seldom dreamed but they occasionally experienced something similar while preparing to enter the meditative state. As the mind was released from its constraints, repressed ideas sometimes expressed themselves. Disjointed images could morph into long animated sequences. Illusions, whimsical or disturbing, distracted from meditation, occasionally preventing it entirely.

The experience was not uncommon. The ancients had called them visions and considered them the attempt of ancestors to impart wisdom. He, of course, believed nothing of the sort. He knew they were biologic, a bored mind to dispensing excess energy. The phenomena were explained briefly during a child's training in the meditative arts, but, not discussed much in polite society.

He was perhaps unusually uncomfortable with the experience. As an adolescent, there had been a period when he had struggled mightily with them. At the time, he had believed his human ancestry had made him less capable of self-control than his peers. However, maturity had led to mastery, and it had been many years since his meditation had been disrupted in that way. It was, therefore, somewhat disconcerting that it happened now.

He considered how to proceed. Had he been on the ship, he would have immediately risen and gone to the science labs. He would have exhausted his mind by immersing himself in some difficult problem. Failing that, he would have gone to the gym and exercised until he had no energy left for fancy. Neither were possibilities on Aderiel. The planet's nearly feudal distribution of labor meant that as a guest he could do little but read.

Ironically, on the ship, it was unlikely he would have experienced difficulty with meditation. In his silent quarters with its firm, narrow, bunk it was easy to maintain the necessary focus. Here, there were many frustrations.

As if to demonstrate the point, soft voices seeped into his sleep chamber. The humans seemed to find the sound reducing curtains adequate; he, with his superior hearing, did not. He was forced to listen to any conversations that happened during the rest cycles. Again, ironic, as he required far less sleep than his human companions and only retired to the sleep chambers out of respect for their circadian rhythms.

Tonight, somewhere in the great room, Mister Sulu and Chekov carried on the foolish discussion of Christmas memories. He wondered at the delight humans seemed to take in recitations of past experiences. It was illogical. The past was gone. Memories of pain, like pleasure, could meaningfully be assigned value only by the individuals who had experienced them. Time could not be ranked.

He told himself to ignore the noise and directed his attention back to the problem at hand. He needed a challenge, something to quiet his mind, and something he could do without worrying or insulting the Aderielans. Preferable, it would be something he could do without provoking the interest of his crewmates. He had no interest in explaining Vulcan psychology to McCoy, particularly if it meant discussing his failure to control himself.

He realized he'd had a similar discussion with himself many years before. Convinced as he had been in his immaturity that the visions were a sign of his genetic inferiority, he had been unwilling to discuss them with anyone, not healers or even his father. He'd tried then to solve his problem without involving anyone else too. He tried to recall what strategies he'd used at that time.

He thought hard and finally recalled that he had stopped fighting. He remembered the shock he had experienced when after having given up, laid in bed and viewed whatever nonsense his mind supplied, he had been able to go quickly into the meditative state. He had been both relieved and ashamed. He had tried it successfully the next evening, then done it regularly until gradually he became more interested in meditation than in imagination. But there had been a period when he had been forced to allow his id to play out so that he could achieve the necessary focus for meditation.

Was it possible he could do the same now? He could not feel enthusiasm for exploring his subconscious while in such close quarters with his crewmates. He cast about for another plan.

In the outer room, Mr. Sulu laughed. He felt a brief burst of annoyance. He suppressed the emotion quickly but could not help but be surprised by the intensity of his response. Clearly, he was becoming more sensitive to the frustrations of the environment. In another example of the irony that abounded on the planet, he needed to meditate to endure the absurd mission, and yet, it appeared the absurdities of the mission prevented his meditation.

He made a decision. Before he could change his mind, he closed his eyes and began the breathing.

He followed his usual routine and began by acknowledging all impediments to relaxation so that he could clear them from his mind. On Aderiel the difficult was not in recognizing, but in ranking them.

First, there was the noise. Not just the laughing, Mr. Scott's whistling was dreadful, the captain's teasing was perhaps worse. But they paled beside Dr. McCoy's compulsive emotional outbursts. On the rare occasions when the physician wasn't loudly exclaiming his distress with the mission, he was lecturing the others using folksy colloquialisms or inaccurate analogies as annoying as the enforced idleness that inspired them. Indeed, he considered the one benefit of the sleep chamber to be that it spared him from Dr. McCoy's insights on the local weather.

Nor was it still at night. Only Mr. Sulu slept quietly. Both the captain and Mr. Scott snored, the engineer quite loudly. The doctor was restless at night, often wandering about muttering incoherently. If McCoy managed to stay in bed, he turned frequently, sighed irritably, and from time to time even punched at his mattress. Mister Chekov played games on his PADD for hours, and then occasionally talked in his sleep.

It took some time to release his noisy companions, but eventually, he moved on, letting go of his forced idleness, and then of the inhospitable planet's climate, gelatinous furniture, and soft, cold beds. He finished by admitting how little he admired the general indolence of Aderielan society.

Frustrations released, his heart rate slowed, and he began to approach the necessary level of relaxation. He sent his mind out. Again, an image of his father appeared in his head. It was not unexpected, but he was out of practice at willing participation in fantasy. It took several seconds before he could take a steadying breath and press forward.

Details filled in, colors grew brighter, and a room materialized around Sarek. He recognized the common area of his childhood home long before the planet's destruction. Every detail was correct, the patch on his grandfather's chair, the antique willow sewing box by his mother's desk. He could smell his father's tea and see the clan charts on the wall illuminated as they had always been by the early evening sun. Through the latticework of the ceiling vents, he could hear Vulcans' now extinct songbirds.

Sarek appeared as he had on many evenings at home, wearing a casual robe. He stood before a viewer, his finger still on the screen as if he was holding his place. He looked somewhat younger and much less stoic than the last time they had met. His father raised a single eyebrow and said, "I do not require nourishment."

He heard his mother say, "Try them, you might like them."

She appeared suddenly, fully formed, in a robe he remembered well. She held her hands outstretched before her, offering a plate of her tea cakes.

"It is not a meal time," his father said, his tone gentler than he recalled being usual.

"I made them without eggs just for you." His mother's expression was neutral, but her tone less so.

He pulled back mentally and considered. His mother, being human, had been well past youth when she died. In his vision, she looked much younger than Sarek, her soft hair still dark, and her skin tight. Seeing his mother, as she had been in his childhood was, unexpected, and, he acknowledged, somewhat painful.

Obviously, he was experiencing the incident he had spoken of earlier, his mother making tea cakes for his father's family. His participation in the discussion had in some way provoked this memory.

He was satisfied that it was correct to continue studying the memory but found himself unwilling to expose himself to memories that might prove painful. He reminded himself that meditation required self-control, and directed his mind forward.

A child's voice said, "They are not Vulcan."

A child's voice? He had been the only child in his parent's home. He heard himself.

"Indeed, they are not," Sarek replied. "That does not mean they are without value."

His mother knelt. Her face came closer, eyes soft. He had not appreciated until he had lived among humans how much effort she had put into muting her emotional responses so that he would be comfortable with them. Seeing her through his adult eyes, he realized she was attempting not to smile.

"They aren't Vulcan Spock, but I made them following Vulcan dietary rules. The recipes were originally from Earth, so the result is both human and Vulcan. They are like our family."

"Mother," he said, "a family is a group of individuals related genetically or through law. Those are sweets."

Her lips twitched, "I tried to make them something for all of us."

"Why?" he asked.

"Why?" she repeated softly, then said, "I hope you will like them. I made these with my mother Spock; I would like to make them with you."

"I am not certain I understand the purpose of this activity."

"It is for fun, Spock. I wish for us to enjoy this together."

"I do not find that to be an adequate explanation Mother."

She sighed, then said, "You are learning your father's traditions Spock, and for that, I am glad, but I have traditions too."

His father glanced at him quickly, then reached deliberately over his head and took one of the little cakes and ate it. Sarek, who had so recently said he did not require nourishment. It was not the proper time for a meal, and yet, he ate it. He did not recall but could imagine, the confusion the action caused a Vulcan child.

"You have succeeded, my wife," Sarek said.

"Really?" she asked.

"I have said that it is so," Sarek replied.

She looked at her husband and asked hesitantly, "Tell me the truth Sarek, would it be proper to take them around?"

"Around?" asked his father.

She nodded. "The custom is to share them. That's what we always did when I was young, to all the neighbors, and my father's coworkers. I want to do what's right. I don't want to make anyone feel uncomfortable, or," she left her final concern unsaid.

His father raised an eyebrow. "Vulcans do not feel uncomfortable."

His mother raised an eyebrow back at him. He recognized her expression; he had seen it many times. As a child, its meaning had not been clear to him. Even now, he was uncertain if she was skeptical, or mocking. Neither was an emotion he associated with her, and yet, seeing it again, it occurred to him now that it might be both. He thought too that something in her manner implied affection.

It was possible. He knew now that humans often sustained more than one emotion at the same time.

Sarek continued, "To experience emotion because you offer a delicacy, prepared with considerable effort in honor of your ancestors, would be illogical. My clan members should accept your gesture gratefully."

Which was not an answer to her question, it was clear to him now, an adult with many years of experience living among humans, that his mother was asking how Sarek's sisters would react when she showed up at their doors with human food. She did not wish her traditions subjected to disparagement, even the silent ridicule of the clan members. How had Sarek not understood? Why had she not been specific about her concerns? It occurred to him that there were many aspects of his mother's time on Vulcan he had not considered during her lifetime.

He occasionally had some regret that he had not offered more, he supposed enthusiasm would be the correct term, for his mother's humanity. His relationship with Nyota had given him an appreciation of his mother's many compromises.

To his surprise, he heard his own voice. "I will accompany my mother to the homes of my aunts. I will explain the Christmas cakes, and I will accept their acknowledgments."

His mother looked at him, unable to control the gratitude on her face. "Are you sure Spock?" she said. "Holiday visits are not a Vulcan tradition."

"Meetings without purpose are not the Vulcan tradition," his voice replied. "However Mother, the purpose of these meetings will be to deliver the cakes. The fact that it also honors an Earth holiday is secondary."

It was an excellent plan, he thought. As the child of his father, he would be received with every hospitality by every clan member. More importantly, they would not assume he would be incapable of recognizing rudeness, and they would be careful to treat his mother respectfully while he was present.

"I acknowledge your logic Spock," his father said and reached for another of the cakes. He chewed it thoughtfully and added, "I too shall accompany you, my wife."

His mother had looked at his father, astonished and pleased, and held up two fingers. After a brief hesitation, his father had stroked them with his index finger. He remembered how those gestures had embarrassed him as a child. Now he watched it wistfully, as the vision of his parents faded away.

He lay very still. His mind was clear. He knew an attempt to meditate would be likely to succeed, but instead, he concentrated on his mother's young face, trying to fix it in his memory. He knew it was illogical, but he felt some sorrow that he did not have more like it.

A child does not consider a parent as an individual. They do not study them. Consequently, he had very few specific memories of her face. The vision of his mother he recalled most easily was his last one. He always saw her realizing she was lost. To see her joyful and tender was, he considered carefully-unused to describing his emotions. He decided, to see her thus was comforting.

He could recall delivering the cakes, but not a discussion before doing so. Even among Vulcans, his memory was considered exceptional. Perhaps the vision was fantasy? It should not matter. He survived, and his father. His mother was dead, as was everyone else involved even tangentially in the incident. The house, the path they had walked, the plate she had used, all were gone. The past was set, unalterable. It was illogical to hope the vision was a memory, and yet, he did.

He mentally tucked his mother's expression away and recalled Nyota had encouraged him to remember. Time, she had insisted, would soften his pain until eventually, the human half of him could recall aspects of Vulcan fondly. He had not believed it could be so. Grief, he had thought, was very different for his people. But perhaps he was wrong. Or perhaps, he was more human than he generally acknowledged. When they were next alone, he would tell her of the vision, and that she had been correct.

He felt suddenly impossibly weary. He gave up his goal of meditating, closed his eyes and told himself to sleep, thereby ending this long, cold, day. He would start again in the morning.


	5. Christmas Gets Even Worse

He lay in his sleeping compartment and rewatched a vid Ben had sent weeks earlier of Demora interfering with the wrapping of presents. The tiny girl grabbed at the shiny paper and laughed, then held it up to the camera. Held it up to him, he realized. He tossed the PADD away angrily and rolled over.

He heard the back door slam and light footsteps. He pulled the compartment curtain back and called softly, "Hey."

Pav dropped onto his knees outside the compartment. "Hi," he chirped, face illuminated by the light from the PADD.

"Where did you go?" he asked, not bothering to sit up.

"To wash the glasses."

He said, "You should have left them for me. It would be nice actually to have something to do tomorrow."

Pav grinned, "Check in the morning. I am sure you will find some spot I missed and want to do them over."

He laughed, despite his mood. Pav knew him pretty well. "Wasn't it cold out there?"

Pavel shrugged. "The moons are bright, and there are large birds or bats, something. They phosphoresce. It's beautiful, do you want to go see them?"

"No, not tonight, maybe tomorrow."

"You would feel better," Pavel wheedled.

He shook his head. "I'm going to need at least twenty-four hours Pav."

"That is a waste, I like the planet, and today was fun, especially the party."

"You like everything," he muttered, then asked, "What party?"

"Mr. Scott's."

He laughed bitterly, then said, "That wasn't a party, that was barely drinks with the guys I work with."

"It was good though."

He shook his head. "I can't understand why you aren't madder about this. Doesn't it bother you that we're stuck here while everyone we know enjoys themselves? How can you not resent it?"

Pavel shrugged.

"Last year we did Santa with the baby then joined my parents for an amazing meal. When it was all over, Ben and I sat together and exchanged gifts. It was perfect."

Pav wrinkled his forehead, trying to remember. "Last year I went to a party. A different party, of course, it was also good, well, odd, but good."

"Odd?"

"Mrs. Khose is Antican, so the food was raw."

"Mrs. Khose? Are you talking about the wife of Lieutenant Commander Khose?"

Pavel nodded.

"The astrophysics professor?"

Pavel nodded again.

"Pav, why would you spend Christmas with them? He's impossible."

"I was his TA. I know exactly how he is, but his party was fun."

"Is fun maybe one of those terms that don't translate well to Russian?"

"Hikaru," Pavel said, "fun was invented in Russia."

Okay, whatever. You know Tellarites don't celebrate Christmas, right?"

Pavel nodded. "It was their first time. They tried hard, but some things were not quite right."

"Like what?"

"Like the inedible feast, and the tree, which was unusual."

"Unusual?"

"They seemed to have thrown any shiny thing they owned on it. So, some utensils, wires, jewelry, framed holos of Tellarite ancestors."

"Wow," he said, shaking his head, "and Mrs. Khose is Antican? You spent Christmas day at the home of a Tellarite and his dog wife. Don't Tellarites eat dogs?"

"She's not a dog; she just looks somewhat doglike, really more like a wolf with earrings, very regal. She told me their story while we drank a horrible thing made of raw eggs. That is to say; she drank it. I didn't, I pretended to drink it and then poured it in the compost." He cocked his head thoughtfully and added, "Actually, she didn't drink it either, she lapped it,"

"Pavel," he said gently, "were you going to tell me the story?"

"Oh, yes, sorry. It is the second marriage for both. Neither family was pleased. They decided to leave their home planets and find a place more accepting of trans species relationships. They requested transfers to the academy and moved to Earth. They wish to assimilate, and when they heard about Christmas, they decided to celebrate."

"And you agreed to help?"

"Not exactly. When the commander and his wife researched the holiday, they learned it is customary to include lonely neighbors. None of their actual neighbors would accept an invitation."

"Khose had already insulted them," he guessed.

"For whatever reason," Pavel replied, "they were forced to broaden their search. My office was next to his. One day he came in and asked if I was lonely. I thought perhaps he meant alone and didn't know the correct word; I did not wish to embarrass him by correcting him."

"You were afraid he would yell at you," he suggested.

"Honestly, that too," Pavel agreed. "Either way, I said yes. He said, 'Excellent,' and then he said, 'You will eat a Christmas feast at my home at 1730 that day. Arrive two hours early, and be prepared to participate in festive activities of the season.'"

"And you agreed?"

"He outranks me and was at the time, my direct supervisor. I was a little afraid to say no. Also, I had no other plans."

He felt a prickle of guilt, but all he said was, "What was it like?"

Pav looked mischievous. "When I arrived the commander complained that I was late, handed me a blanket, and told me to join his wife on the couch."

"Seriously?"

Pavel nodded, eyes wide.

"What happened?"

Pavel looked around as if checking for eavesdroppers. "The room was dark. Mrs. Khose was there, waiting for me. She gestured for me to come closer. I was nervous; I think she knew. She leaned up and whispered," He paused dramatically, "You may need to adjust the viewer."

"Huh?"

Pavel continued, "No one in their family can see much color. It turned out the first festive activity was to watch vids while wrapped in quilts and she wanted to make sure I enjoyed it. I hadn't realized the proper blanket was considered an important part of the celebration. Mine had a gazelle with a red nose."

"That was a reindeer."

Pavel shook his head. "No, Russia has many reindeer. This looked nothing like them."

"Okay, well, back to the couch. You cuddled up with Professor Khose and Mrs. Professor Khose?"

"And his grown daughter, her husband, and their three children. Some cadets, all Antican and distant relations of Mrs. Khose, showed up just as the vids started. Fortunately, their furniture is big. I was the only one that did not recline to relax, so I had a good view. Did you ever see the story of a dancing snowman wearing a hat? Very confusing. If the hat made the snow come alive, why did it not affect the water it sat in when he melted? It makes no sense, snow is water, with less active molecules, why would it be more animated?"

"Never mind Pav. What else?"

"After the show, the commander directed us to play games around the tree. The children tried to teach me a Tellarite one, but it required a snout. The son in law, also Tellarite, challenged me to chess. He was obnoxious, so," Pavel shrugged.

"You beat him," he suggested.

Pav nodded, "Perhaps not polite, but Commander Khose seemed pleased."

"What else did you do?"

"Pulling apart the tubes to put on crowns, singing."

"Singing? Like carols?"

"Yes, that is the word. Truthfully, I found the carols more painful than the food. The Antican sing exactly as you would assume."

"I'm kinda beginning to wish I had seen this. Anything else?"

"There was a gift exchange. It was later though, once other people from the department arrived. Some of them were quite late, in retrospect, I suspect they were hoping to avoid the food. I didn't know what was appropriate, so, I brought roses. I thought it could not offend anyone."

"Good choice?" he asked.

"I am not sure," Pav said. "The Tellarite grandchildren loved them. They ate every one. Consequently, I had nothing to add, but they insisted I pick anyway."

"What did you get?"

"Oh, that was funny, meat."

"What?"

"Raw steak in a fancy box."

"Seriously? That has to be the worst present ever."

Smiling, Pavel said, "You have never had to pretend gratitude for school uniforms."

"How did you keep a straight face?"

"I didn't entirely, but I said thank you, and offered to share. The cadets tore into it like," Pav paused, wrinkling his forehead.

"Dogs?" he prompted.

"Is it more polite to say wolves?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "These things only happen to you Pav."

"My favorite thing was playing American football in the snow. None of us knew what to do, and there was no snow, only rain, but it was fun. They all tended to carry the ball in their mouths, and one of the grandchildren bit through it. We still played but flung it around like a big plate. I loved that."

He shook his head. "No one else would think any of that was fun."

Pavel shrugged, "It was though."

"It sounds more like you'd made up your mind to like it no matter what."

Pavel nodded. "Sure."

He laughed, "Did you just say sure? Pav, in the real world, people respond to what happens. They don't just decide to enjoy whatever weird situation they stumble into."

"Really?" Pavel asked defensively, "because I suspect sometimes people decide to do the opposite."

"Very subtle. I keep telling you this is a big deal to me."

Pavel studied him skeptically, then said, "Enjoying yourself is a contribution, like bringing flowers. I do both."

"Oh my god," he muttered.

Pav insisted, "Everyone does this."

"No one does that. It isn't truthful."

"It is not lying to be happy with what is. You do. You do it with Ben."

"I don't lie to Ben."

"Today when you com Ben you will say there was a party, that we had drinks and told stories and that you had fun. You will make yourself sound cheerful. How is that different than what I did?"

He didn't reply. Pav seemed to assume he didn't understand and added, "You will be careful to avoid burdening him with your loneliness because his happiness is your happiness, right?"

The question hung unanswered for several seconds. Finally, he said, "That's what the wedding vows implied."

Pavel wrinkled his forehead, trying to decipher the joke.

He cleared his throat. "I commed Ben this morning Pav, and I was honest. I made it clear that I was in a lousy mood."

"Com him again," Pavel said excitedly. "You will feel better if you know you have made him happy."

"Pav, it takes weeks for my communication cubes to get to Earth. Christmas will be done and gone by the time Ben gets the ones I do today."

"But he will be happy."

He said slowly, "I'm not worried about him. Ben is happy. He's got family, food, and presents. I, on the other hand, do not. I resent it. Why wouldn't I be honest about that? I accept it's part of the life we chose, but, I still resent it."

"You chose."

"Ben and I chose it together."

Pavel shook his head. "You chose to be gone; he chose to wait for you, that is not the same as choosing to be left. It is one of the reasons you do what you can to make the separation easier for him."

He got up on his elbow. "Would it kill you to be sympathetic?"

Pav looked confused. "I am sympathetic, that is why I am trying to help you. Tell Ben there was a party and you had fun. He will be glad. You will feel better knowing you made him happy. Everyone wins."

"Life isn't as simple as that Pav."

"Often, it is." Pav threw out his hands and added, "It works Hikaru. I did it even at the other professor's parties, which were harder for me. They were stately, and I am not naturally quiet."

"Yeah, I know," he chuckled but then asked, "What other professors?"

"The other years, the professors I spent the holiday with."

"Wait, are you telling me this wasn't the first Christmas you spent with an instructor from the academy?"

Pavel nodded.

"How many?"

"All."

"All of them? Three years?"

"Four, three while I was in school and then last year while we were in dry dock."

"Why don't you go home for the holidays?"

"Oh," Pavel paused, "It is far Hikaru, and it is expensive to travel."

"You were thirteen when you started at the academy Pav. I think they could have splurged."

"I was fourteen by December."

He laughed again, but more bitterly. "The point is Pav, you were a child, and now you think a good holiday is being some teacher's mercy dinner invite. At least it explains why you don't recognize how bad today is."

Pavel said thoughtfully, "I had never considered it, but, you are right. Being a guest is my holiday tradition. Said like that, it does sound a little pathetic." Looking more hopeful, he asked, "But, if I didn't enjoy it, wouldn't that be worse?"

He suddenly longed to be alone. Ordinarily, it made him feel guilty to manipulate his friend, but he decided tonight, he didn't care. He forced a smile and said, "You know what? You're right. Thanks, Pav, you have great insights."

"I do?"

"Absolutely."

"When did I say the great things?"

"Oh, you know."

"Did I make you mad?" Pav asked hesitantly.

"No, not at all." He yawned and said, "I feel much better, I'm gonna sleep great. You know, we should both turn in. Otherwise, we'll be too exhausted to enjoy doing nothing again all day tomorrow."

Pav, of course, stood up immediately. "Okay. Merry Christmas Hikaru."

"Yeah, you too," he managed.

Pavel added, "One year we had Christmas on the ship; that was great."

He closed his eyes. "Good night, Pav."

As his friend's footsteps faded into the dark, he yanked the curtain closed and grabbed his blanket. "At a certain point, naive is just annoying," he muttered, tucking the quilt in around him tidily.

Typically, he fell right off, but tonight, he tossed restlessly. Bits and pieces of the evening kept running through his head. He rolled over, sighing. His PADD, which was still on the bed, dug painfully into his ribs. Swearing, he grabbed it and drew back his arm, preparing to throw it through the curtains. The motion reactivated the viewer, and it flashed on, displaying one of his favorite stills of Ben.

He sat up and studied the holo. He'd caught Ben laughing hard, eyes closed, mouth open, leaning into a wall for support. Ben hated the image, but he loved it. It had been Ben's whole-body laugh that had first attracted him. The holo was one of the few he had that showed his husband as he liked to think of him.

"Hey," he said, "did you know your happiness is my happiness? Sometimes, I forget."

The silence seemed heavy. He stared at the holo a few seconds more, then told the machine, "Record." He waited for the light to blink green to say, "Addendum to Hikaru Sulu private log. Begin. Hi, it's me again. Well, I tried to ruin Christmas for the one happy human on this godforsaken planet. It didn't really work, and I'm still depressed, but now I'm ashamed too. Happy holidays."

Ben smiled on. He sighed, and said, "Erase last entry."

When the machine complied, he started over. "Hey, Ben. It's almost midnight here, so Christmas is winding down. I've been thinking; I hope I didn't bring you to down too much this morning. Things got better. We even celebrated. Mr. Scott shared some whiskey. People told stories. It was nice. I enjoyed it." It took a little effort, but he didn't grimace.

He continued, "I hope your day was good too. I hope the gifts got there on time, and that you saw everyone and had lots of fun. I'm eager to hear what Dad got Demora. I bet he went all out. He always does. For him, the holiday is about making other people happy. I realized, quite recently actually, that's how grownups celebrate." He paused, and almost stopped, but decided he hadn't said any of the essential things yet.

He took a deep breath. "Listen, Ben, being with other people reminded me I'm not the only one, um, I'm not the only one missing home today. I realized that I spent so much time thinking, and talking, about what I am being denied, that I managed to forget this holiday is supposed to be about what I give. I wish," He paused, trying to think of the right words, then continued, "I wish I had thought more about how to make this easier for you. I'm sorry. From now on, I will try to remember that this is a family holiday, not my day. Okay, well, I love you. Merry Christmas."

He reached for the stop button, but added, "Oh, and one more thing, next time I get leave for Christmas, I am bringing Pav home. I want to give him a traditional holiday, maybe even cut a tree. Although, the thought of either of you two playing with an axe is kind of alarming. Anyway, we will need to get him a good present. God knows what he'll want. It'll probably be ridiculous. But whatever it is, we're getting it for him." He studied the picture, ran his finger along his husband's jawline, and then said quietly, "I love you so much, Ben. Merry Christmas." He hit save and closed the PADD.


	6. The Worst Christmas in Georgia

"God, I hate the cold," he muttered as he climbed fully dressed into the bed, and lay there, shivering, with the blanket clenched tightly in both hands.

He sighed noisily and thought, _I don't care what Jim Kirk says it's not complaining, it's a simple truth._ _The only time I've been warm since arriving on this hell ball was today, drinking whiskey by the fire. And that wasn't real. Alcohol doesn't make you warm; it just lets you think you are. Still, it felt good. Probably lucky Scotty brought such a little bottle. No sense in making people too merry, especially considering it's apparently Christmas. How the hell is that possible? Time is confusing out here. I supposed Jocelyn gave Jojo her present this morning, or whenever this morning was on Earth. I wonder if she liked it._

He'd sent the package months ago. It took that long to get anything to Earth. Physical mail calls only occurred at starbases. Jocelyn had told him many times to stop, that under the circumstances credits would be a perfectly reasonable gift, but he wanted his daughter to know he'd he'd gone to the trouble of picking out something for her.

It had been easy when Joanna was young. Then, every time they'd stopped at a planet, he'd hustled down to the local markets and gotten an exotic toy. But she'd stopped thanking him with any real enthusiasm several Christmases ago. This year he'd given up and asked Joss what to buy. She'd suggested jewelry.

He'd been confident walking down the promenade at the starbase. But when he'd gone in the store, he'd realized he had no idea what a girl Joanna's age might want. He'd slunk back to the ship.

It had taken a few hours and acknowledging he needed to buy something quickly to force him to find Nyota Uhura and ask for her help. She'd been her usual gracious self. They'd returned to the shop, and she'd picked out earrings with glowing stones. He'd had them shipped to Jocelyn who, he supposed, had wrapped them up and placed them under her tree.

They hadn't been happily married, but Joss had always been good about helping him maintain a relationship with their child. She never undermined him. Of course, she didn't have to. He wasn't much of a threat from so far away.

 _Sulu will find out; i_ _t's hard to love a child from a distance_. _More and more I find Christmas is nothing but a time marker, just a reminder that another year has come and gone. Forget celebrate, I'd prefer not to acknowledge it at all. Even if everything goes perfectly, if I get a transmission, and it's clear, and she loves my gift, it doesn't matter. The ship eventually moves out of range, and that screen goes dark, and the silence seems deader after the noise._ _Christmas means pulling yourself together and going back to work. Otherwise, it's too easy to be overcome, thinking about how you're alone, and she's light years away, growing up every single day without you._

He rolled over fretfully. The blanket pulled up, exposing his back. He sat up angrily and tucked the covers around him. _I shouldn't be here. It's too cold. Spending your childhood in Georgia permanently thins your blood._ _This room is like a tomb, dark and cold and far too quiet: Par for the course, the whole planet's miserable. We've spent most our time like bugs with stick pins through them, going nowhere and doing nothing._

He lay back down and waited for the sensors in the blanket to go to work. As the fibers finally tightened, making a thicker mat, he felt more comfortable. But he still couldn't sleep, he felt nervous, like he had forgotten something. _Should I check on Spock? Fool Vulcan won't admit it, but he wasn't bred for a soggy, cold place like this. It would be just like Spock to try and use mind over physical discomfort until he collapsed. Then what am I supposed to do, on lockdown in the backyard of a place where the natives meditate on problems instead of solving them?_

But he didn't go. The first officer was the one member of the crew that seemed to rest well on Aderiel. Each night he bid the rest of them a very formal good night and disappeared into his chamber, sealing the curtains neatly and emerging after a silent eight hours looking crisp and unwrinkled.

The prospect of disturbing Spock was not appealing, especially as he was uncertain how he could explain his concern. Spock had never complained or mentioned any symptoms of illness. He had introduced the topic of the weather several times, trying to get the first officer to say how he felt. Spock had deflected every attempt to discuss the cold. He doubted Spock would respond positively to extra attention, especially if it woke him.

 _That crazy Vulcan has an amazing ability to resent assistance._

He flipped his pillow and closed his eyes, but couldn't settle down _._ _If I check on anybody, it should probably be Sulu. He wasn't himself all day._

He sighed and stared into the dark. _Sulu thinks today was hard? Wait until he experiences watching Christmas on a screen, and hearing his daughter call somebody else daddy. Then he'll know what a bad Christmas is._

He rolled over. He told himself to stop but kept thinking. _He misses his baby._ _The weather here isn't helping, neither is all the inactivity. On Aderiel, depression isn't pathological, it's appropriate._ _I should probably offer to talk._

He wriggled out of the blanket and shoved the curtain back. He set his feet on the floor, but in the darkness across the room, he heard Chekov speaking softly, then Sulu's staccato laugh. Quietly, he pulled the curtains and lay back down.

 _I shouldn't worry. Sulu's too sensible to brood about things he can't control. Tomorrow I'll find Chekov and make him tell me what they talked about. I'll know then if I need to get involved._

He itched his chin. _Although, what will I say? I understand? I don't._ _Some people lack the sense to know they've had it easy._ _I wished I'd lived the sort of life that would allow me to imagine this was the worst Christmas ever. I could tell him some stories._

He wouldn't though. Some memories he didn't even share with Jim. Like, that last Christmas before he'd enlisted. He never talked about it.

He'd been on his way to his mama's for the holiday. He'd stopped for a drink. He could remember meeting a young woman, but not agreeing to leave with her. Although, he had evidently done so. He'd woken up in a strange bedroom with the woman beside him. He'd decided not to stay for breakfast.

He'd found his shoes and started sneaking towards her front door. He'd been concentrating so hard on being quiet he'd nearly fallen over a tiny boy in red and white pajamas.

"Santa?" the child had asked, gazing up at him with brown eyes.

He'd frozen, trying to decide how to answer. A bedroom door had opened and a little girl, older than the boy, maybe 9, shot out. She was dark-haired, and in his state, for a horrible second, he'd mistaken her for Joanna. She'd looked at him with loathing, then grabbed her little brother's arm and pulled him back into the room, closing the door firmly behind them.

He'd stood there, wanting to explain, but knowing there was nothing he could say that would make any of it alright.

He'd hurried to the door and tugged hard to open it. In the shabby little apartment, the heat had come from a wall unit. There had been two Christmas stockings nailed up next to it. When he'd opened the door, the wind had sent one tumbling to the ground.

He'd closed the door and hurried over to scoop it up, then stood there with it in his hand, studying it. It had been a cheap little thing, but someone had personalized it with a glitter pen. Curtis, it had said, in a childlike script. Probably the sister, he had thought, and looked at the other stocking. Annie, it had read in the same shiny letters.

He'd searched on the ground till he'd found the tack. Then he'd used it to pin Curtis' stocking against the wall. He'd stepped back, stared at the two deflated looking little things, then reached into his pocket and started pulling out everything he had. Money, candy, pen lights, he'd shoved it all into the stockings until he'd had nothing left.

He'd backed away, hoping they'd have a better Christmas than it appeared they would.

He had been careful not to let the door slam. He'd had vague plans of going back, of buying some gifts and leaving them on the porch. Instead, he'd fallen asleep at the transport station and woke up about noon, sick and stinking, and riddled with guilt. He'd called his mother, and assured her he was working. Then he'd called Joss, who hadn't picked up. He'd left a message for Jojo and gone looking for a bar.

 _Couldn't explain that to Sulu._

He blinked hard. He didn't recall the woman's name or the name of the town where they'd lived, but he remembered those empty little stockings. He thought of them every year.

He rolled over and said a quick prayer, just as he had that night, that the children's mother had been able to get them a few things.

 _Children deserve good, but they don't always get it. Even when you try, even if you want nothing more than to take care of them, lots of times you fail._

He remembered lifting the baby from her carrier, and how light it had seemed. "I have her," he'd said. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, just be careful with Joanna," Jocelyn had replied, but he'd waited anyway, and offered her his arm. There hadn't been any sidewalks, and she had been a city girl.

She'd smiled at him when she took his arm. "My prince," she'd said, sarcastically, but not unkindly. They'd still been in love then, that first year.

Mama had been waiting at the door, hands clasped. "Give me that baby Len," she'd said, and he had carefully transferred Joanna to her grandmother, feeling proud in a way he never had before.

They'd gone into the house, which had smelled of turkey, and sage, and peach pies. His father had been in the living room, still looking reasonably well, thinner, but relatively hale. His mother had gone to sit by him.

"Look, David, isn't she beautiful?" she'd said, pulling off the baby's cap.

"Oh, you sweet little princess," his father had said, and reaching out, had taken the baby.

"Joanna," he had cooed, "Hi sweetheart. It's Granddaddy. I know you've been waiting to see me." He'd looked up and added, "She's bigger already. You two are doing a fine job with her."

He had looked over at Jocelyn, and she had been smiling at him. He had felt tender, and lucky, and proud, and even then, he had wished it would last forever.

"I think you dodged a bullet, Len," his daddy had said. "She appears to favor Jocelyn. Now all you got to worry about is did she get your temper?"

They'd all laughed, and Davy, his younger brother, had heard them, and run in from the yard. The dogs had come too and gone nuts when they'd seen him. Joanna had awakened, but not cried. She had raised one eyebrow and stared at them with the grumpiest baby face, and everyone had laughed and insisted that she had learned it from him.

The rest of the afternoon had been a noisy, happy mess, and the only specific he could recall was Jocelyn's face when she saw the locket, the one he'd had engraved with the initials she and the baby shared. Inside, he'd put in Joanna's first picture, and the words, "Thank You, L." Joss had stuttered that it was perfect and that he had spent too much. Then she had kissed him, and he'd held her, and after all these years, he could still remember how it had felt.

 _Whatever became of that locket?_

Joss had probably set it aside, for Joanna to have someday. Joss was good about that too. Despite all the things they'd done to hurt each other, she always wanted Jojo to know she'd been conceived in love, and was a blessing.

He blinked again in the dark and told himself to stop thinking about it. There was no point. They'd hung on a few more years, but that had been their one perfect Christmas. They'd been too young. She hadn't been used to being poor, and he'd been far, far too busy. His Daddy's problems hadn't helped, and neither had everything he'd done to drown the guilt he'd had about how that ended. All of it had eaten away at them until there hadn't been enough left to hold on to, and she'd found someone happier to love.

 _You think this was a bad Christmas Sulu? I could tell you about bad Christmases._

He rolled over restlessly.

 _I don't even know which one was my worst._

It was impossible to pick. Was it the horrible Christmas that could still make him blush with shame? Or the perfect one, that left him teary when he remembered it alone? It was everything Sulu wanted, but it was only one, and that was the problem.

 _Be careful what you wish for brother,_ he said softly, to Sulu, and to himself. Then he turned to the wall and told himself to lay still. He was used to long, sleepless nights, and he knew he'd be less cranky in the morning if he lay still and allowed his body to rest.


	7. A (Nearly) Bad Christmas in Moscow

_Mr. Scott is an exceptional man_ , he thought, _so generous, both with his things and his good temper. His kindness makes everyone happy_ , _or, it should. Poor Hikaru._

 _Of course, Captain Kirk is also exceptional, so smart, not like me, not just about numbers and facts. He looks at people and reads their hearts. I was astonished when he mentioned dragon bots._

 _Did I want one? I said I did, once._

He preferred to leave the past alone. But it was late and dark, and he'd been drinking. He started to remember.

He got out of his coat and started to follow his cousins up the stairs. Auntie Inessa caught his arm. "You stay where I can keep an eye on you," she said and pulled him down the hall. The surprised looks he got made him feel shy, so he stared at the floor and pretended to be invisible. He wasn't able to see where there were going and was surprised when she stopped before a couch. He scrambled up, hoping to seem obedient, but she said only, "Behave, Pasha, please," and walked away.

 _I'm trying,_ he thought and carefully folded his hands in his lap before looking around.

He recognized the sitting room, but not all the people in it. He knew they were relatives come for the party. Aunt Inessa had explained the tradition was for the whole family to gather at Roksana and Albert's for Christmas Eve. "They put up the New Year's tree, and we share a meal. My sisters, and cousins, all our children, even second cousins, everyone," she'd said. "We're lucky. Today, so few families stay close."

He'd asked, "Why did we never come? Mama was your sister." She hadn't replied, and he'd known from her expression he'd made her sad.

 _Why did we never come? Was it because we lived so far?_ He looked around the crowded room. _Did they miss us?_

He saw Inessa, her face close to Aunt Vera's, and realized they were talking about him.

Embarrassed, he turned away, then forgot about them when he saw Aunt Roksana's New Year's tree. It was magnificent, dark and thick and wider than any of the rooms in Babulya's little house. Every bough glittered; the glass ornaments shimmered in every color imaginable.

 _It's perfect,_ he thought. _But how did they get the star on top?_ _Could it have been the domovoi and his family?_

He shut his eyes and imagined. _They harvest ice to make the ornaments. In their attic workshop, they carve beautiful toys, whispering never-melt incantations to the ice so that the things they make will last forever. The littlest brother has the best ideas, but no one will listen to him. He slips away to a hidden corner and works and works, all alone. They can't believe when they see what he has made. They say, 'Sorry darling, we love you,' and everyone is happy._

In the hallway, Roksana called a greeting to Uncle Trofim's family. He blinked and sat up straighter. Trofim didn't like pretend.

 _There is no domovoi_ ; he reminded himself. _Babulya lied. Or, maybe she was mistaken. She has never left the country, and it is easier to believe in magic there._

His stomach started to hurt, as it always did when he thought about home. He rocked, just a little bit, and looked about for Trofim. _Maybe he'll stay in the study drinking with the other uncles. Maybe I won't have to see him at all._

Gradually he relaxed enough to play with a loose thread on the sofa. _I work quickly to defuse the bomb, the family's only hope_.

Someone yanked the back of his hair. "Pasha," Aunt Inessa hissed, "you promised."

He sighed. _I try,_ he thought. _There is too much to remember here._ He recited in his head, _Be quiet, be attentive, be polite, be respectful, be grateful, don't stare, don't sulk, don't wander off, don't touch, don't contradict, smile._

"Smile, smile, smile," he muttered, frowning at his reflection in the window. He looked again at the beautiful tree and thought, _At home, we decorated with ribbons and apples. Even New Year's was smaller there._

He heard the twins yelling in the hall. He jumped up, so he couldn't be pinned in, and bumped into Aunt Tanya.

"Pasha!" she laughed. "You little mouse, I didn't see you there."

While he'd lived with them, the twins had called him Mouse, because he was so small, and because they said he squeaked when he cried. _Is it respectful to say I hate it?_ He wasn't sure, so instead, he smiled.

"Be careful Pasha," Auntie Zoya said, "Tanya could crush you, and not even realize it."

"If I am going to crush him, it will be in a hug," laughed Tanya, pulling him close. She smelled sweet, like rose water. He leaned up and kissed her cheek.

She said, "Having you here is a wonderful surprise, sweetheart."

 _Is that true,_ he wondered, _or just polite?_ He was afraid to ask, so he smiled again.

"Isn't he lovely?" asked Tanya of Zoya, "So like Maryana. Seeing him, all I can think of is his poor mother."

 _Like Papa,_ he thought. _Only, she doesn't cry, so, maybe, not quite the same._

The uncles came in, flushed and loud. Trofim ignored him, but Uncle Vsevolod patted his head and asked, "What've you planned for tonight Pasha? Fireworks? Earthquakes?"

He stretched his mouth into another smile, hoping to seem part of the joke.

 _People should stop mentioning it. It was an accident, and it was months ago. I am trying._

Uncle Kirill said bitterly, "Not if he cares what's good for him."

The other grownups laughed, but Aunt Inessa murmured to her husband, "Don't tease him Kirill."

He kept smiling and thought _, Kirill is still angry about having to host me, but Inessa is kind. Of all my aunts, only Olga is mean_.

From across the room, his cousin Afanasy called, "Come and sit with us Pasha, or Mama will make you fetch her tea all evening."

He looked uncertainly at Tanya, who smiled and waved him off. He ran over to be with the big boys. He had to sit on his knees to see, but he felt grown up.

Standing with Albert in front of the tree, Aunt Roksana said, "Welcome to our home. As the year ends, we are so grateful for all of you, our family. This year, we have arranged a special surprise."

"Candy?" asked his cousin Lara, from her seat on her father's lap.

"No, a visit from a friend," laughed Roksana, pulling the doors open. Into the room strode a tall man, dressed in a fur-trimmed robe, and leaning on a long staff.

Lara jumped down, calling, "Ded Moroz!" as she ran to the doorway with her arms up. The old man knelt, and the tiny girl disappeared into his hug. "Did you bring me something?" she asked.

The man replied in a deep voice, "I only give gifts to good children."

"I am very, very good," lisped Lara, and everyone cooed.

The old man dug in his sack then handed an oddly shaped package to Lara. She shredded the paper, revealing a robotic dog. "Thank you, thank you Dedushka," she squealed, hugging it tightly.

"Only Aunt Roksana could book Ded Moroz," his cousin Simyon laughed.

"There's no maiden," Afanasy said. "That's not Ded Moroz. Maybe it's Father Christmas. I don't care, as long as we get presents."

The old man reached into the sack and brought out a shiny package. "Nikolai?" he asked.

Nikolai sauntered over, trying to pretend he wasn't excited. He accepted the gift and tore the paper, then grinned and held up a dragon bot.

 _That's the one I said I wanted_ , he thought. Trofim had been late to collect him at the transport station. The ticket agent had let him wait with her. She'd asked what he wanted for New Year's, and he'd said a bot.

"Mama," Nikolai said, "thank you so much!" He ran across the room and hugged first his mother, then his father.

Aunt Tanya looked teary, and Uncle Vsevolod beamed. "Nikolai," Lara scolded, "it is from Ded Moroz. You have to thank him."

"Fine," Nikolai said happily. He called to the old man, "Thank you Dedushka. It's just what I wanted."

"I knew," said Ded Moroz in a deep, mysterious voice. It was perfect, like his robe and long beard.

He chewed his lip. _What if he's real? What if it's magic, and I miss this chance because I don't believe? Or, would a spirit know what I really want, even though I lied?_

He'd told the kind woman he wanted a dragon bot because all the boys at school did. It was normal. He hated to watch people realize how different he was.

 _It can't hurt to try_ , he thought. _I will say it, and if he is real, he will hear me._ He closed his eyes and chanted very quietly; I _want to go home, I want Papa to be well, I want Babulya._ Slowly, he opened his eyes.

The old man handed a gift to Taras, without even glancing his way. His throat got tight. _There is no magic;_ he reminded himself. _Wishing doesn't work._

Taras held new ski boots over his head and jumped about, screaming and sticking them in people's faces. His twin sniveled that it wasn't fair until the old man handed him a box. Timur grabbed it and ripped it open, then scowled and threw it to the ground. Another pair of boots bounced across the floor.

 _Olga bought those,_ he thought, _she always gets identical presents, even though they hate it._ He felt relieved, but also a little disappointed.

Timur stomped to his seat, smacking at Taras as he sat down. Taras hit him back. Lips tight, Olga leaned over and pinched them both.

He shuddered, remembering her nails.

"The twins are horrible," Simyon said, "the real Ded Moroz wouldn't give them anything."

Afanasy laughed, "The real Ded Moroz probably wouldn't give me much either."

"We're lucky we only have to fool our parents," Simyon agreed.

He studied at the old man's rapidly deflating bag. _Simyon is right_. _No matter what Babulya and I pretend, I know the parents take care of the gifts._

He sighed, then slipped off his knees and slid back to hide behind the tree. Paper and shiny ribbons littered the floor as his cousins run about showing off their new things while their parents laughed and encouraged them. It got noisier and busier until Misha opened the last gift. Then everyone cheered. Uncle Albert offered a drink to Ded Moroz, who accepted, and said they were a lovely family. There was a toast to Aunt Roksana and one to the new year. He watched everyone kiss and felt glad it was over.

Roksana and Albert led them down the hall to dinner. Families went together, parents arm in arm, surrounded by their chattering children. He hung back until just he, his grandmother, and her sister remained.

He smiled and saw that flicker of recognition, followed by sorrow, that he seemed to inspire so often. "Here's Maryana's boy," Aunt Lena said, holding out her arms.

He kissed her then turned to his grandmother, who stepped back. "Pavel," she supplied. "His name is Pavel." This grandmother was nothing like Babulya. She said sternly, "Why are you here?"

His voice wavered. "I'm not going back next term, so they wouldn't let me stay for the holiday."

"Not going back? Why? What did you do?"

"Nothing." Trofim had said not to talk about it.

Aunt Lena interrupted, "He is too young to be at school. Didn't Trofim and Olga take him in?"

His grandmother's mouth tightened. "It was not a success." He hoped she wouldn't say any more, but she continued, "Every year they have brunch at Easter. The family comes, and Trofim's business associates. Last year Pavel did something to the fire alarm. The sprinklers started. Everyone got soaked, the food ruined. Olga was humiliated."

"I only wanted," he began.

His grandmother interrupted, narrowing her eyes. "They had to replace the carpet."

"I'm sorry," he said, for what seemed like the ten thousandth time. He didn't say it had been an accident. No one cared.

Lena said softly, "He is very like his mother."

"He is nothing like his mother," his grandmother snapped, then added more quietly, "It wasn't her fault. She was so unwell, and he was no help."

 _Does she mean me_ , _or Papa?_

Aunt Lena shook her head. "I know you have regrets Shura," she said gently, "but he is her only child. You should consider him a gift."

His grandmother scowled, and whirled away, almost running out of the room. Lena hurried after her. He followed slowly, so he wouldn't have to hear any more.

In the dining room, his aunts directed people to seats, contradicting each other and confusing everyone. He waited, watching the candles flicker. _Last year,_ he thought, _Mama played for midnight mass. She looked so beautiful in the candlelight, like when I was little. She sang while we walked home, all the way, she sang just to me._

He closed his eyes to remember more clearly. _The stars glittered like candles, no, like the ornaments on that tree. I showed Mama the pole star, and she started singing about Bethlehem._

He could almost hear her, not the words, just the tone, bell-like in the cold. He held his breath and tried harder.

"Stop daydreaming Pasha," she said shaking his shoulder. He gasped and opened his eyes. Aunt Vera said, "Everyone's waiting," and pushed him towards his seat.

He stumbled to the children's table, thinking, _She was in bed all the next day_. _Papa was mad. No, sad. Babulya said it was grief that changed my papa so much; Papa is sad._

They had forgotten he was left-handed. He said nothing, just took his seat between Lara and Nikolai. Taras was across from him, Timur two places down. The twins threw food at each other, and Taras bragged about the ski jumps he would take.

Lara offered a bite of bread to her toy. "I love my puppy. What did you get?" she asked.

He pretended not to hear.

"Mice can't speak human," Taras said. "I'll translate. Squeak, squeaky squeak."

He thought, if _I lie, they will think I care._ He put his shoulders back. "I didn't get anything."

Nikolai looked shocked. "Nothing?"

Taras crowed, "Timur, guess what!" and choking with laughter, repeated the story.

Lara asked, "Ded Moroz forgot you?"

"Everyone did," Taras clarified.

"Why?" she asked, clutching her new toy.

 _Explaining about parents,_ he thought, _will take magic away from her too._ He said, "He doesn't give things to bad children. I am still in trouble for getting everyone wet at Auntie Olga's party. But, I'm trying to be better, and next year I will get a gift too."

With his mouth full, Nikolai said, "My mother says that was Olga's fault."

"No," Taras said, "He breaks everything."

"I just wanted to understand how it worked," he said, but again, nobody listened.

"My father hates family parties," Nikolai said. "He said he hopes you do it again."

Taras shook his head. "Not to us. He's not allowed in our house."

"I don't want to go to your house," he said. "You live there."

Nikolai laughed. Timur sneered, "We don't want you. No one does. My father had to force Kirill to let you stay."

"Even your special school doesn't want you." Taras said, "Papa offered them more money, but they still refused to keep you."

He checked to see that Trofim was busy, then spoke quickly. "The headmaster said I'd have more challenges where there is a secondary school, and I can take classes with the upper division."

"You're only eight," Nikolai said, sounding confused.

"He thinks he's so smart," Taras complained.

"I'm smarter than you," he said and felt victorious when both twins flushed. They were two years older, but he had tested ahead of them academically. Olga had been angry at all three of them about it.

Taras leaned across the table. "My father says it's no wonder your mother killed herself. He said he'd kill himself too if he were stuck in the middle of nowhere with an alcoholic, useless husband and the weirdest kid in the world."

His heart lurched. Then his stomach started to hurt, worse than it had in weeks. Worse than in the headmaster's office, worse than when no one was waiting when he got off the transport, worse than when Trofim said to stop asking about going home.

Nikolai said, "Taras, he's just a little kid."

"No," Timur said, "it's a sad little mouse. No one wants it. Squeak, Squeakity."

Around him, his cousins argued, but he pushed his arms tight into his belly and rocked gently, ignoring everything.

He stayed there when the others ran off to play. Roksana saw him and set her wine glass on the table. She pulled him close so that her mouth was by his ear. "Pasha," she whispered kindly, "Can't you at least try to fit in here? You'd enjoy life so much more."

He didn't want to talk, so he nodded.

She patted his head. "The first step is to learn to be with other children. They're upstairs. Go find them." He sighed and stood up. She added, "Smile Pasha, people prefer a happy child."

The boys were in the playroom, dueling with their bots. He didn't ask, but Taras told him he couldn't play. He sat on the stairs and watched the adults drink tea around the wonderful tree.

Inessa said, "Such a perfect evening, I hate for it to end."

Soft voices agreed.

"You've outdone yourself this year darling," his grandmother said.

Roksana replied, "It was a lot of work, but worth it to see the children so happy. Family is everything in the end."

"So true," Tanya murmured contentedly, nestled against Vsevolod's shoulder.

He rested his head on the railing, studying their faces.

"Move," Timur said.

The twins were on the step above him, grinning. He was afraid to go up or down. Instead, he pushed against the railing, trying to be small.

Taras said, "It follows simple commands. Perhaps it could be trained to run in a maze."

"Papa should donate it to a lab," Timur laughed. But they left him alone and went down to their mother. Olga handed them each a candy, and let them sit by her, one on either side.

It didn't seem beautiful anymore, so he went upstairs. He heard laughter in the playroom and turned away, going first to one dark bedroom, and then to the next. Finally, he found the one he was looking for, the one with the bay window. He climbed up and curled into a ball, pulling his sweater over his knees. He rocked and stared out at the stars.

He woke up, stiff and cold, and sure he was in trouble. He jumped up and ran downstairs. The hallway was crowded with relatives preparing to leave. Kirill and Inessa were by the door, looking tired and grumpy. Their children were already in their coats, holding their presents from Ded Moroz.

Kirill said testily, "Why are you never where you are supposed to be? You've kept all of us waiting again. Get your coat."

He started to the closet. His uncle called, "Where's your gift? Did you forget it in the playroom?"

He fumbled with his jacket, trying to decide what to say.

"Answer me when I speak to you Pavel," Kirill said, his voice rising.

His eyes started to sting.

Olga flipped her hair over her fur collar. "Don't bother; he's hopeless."

Inessa frowned at her sister in law and said gently, "Please get your things, Pasha. We want to go home."

An unfortunate choice of words, and, kindness was always harder to ignore. He tried to smile, but his throat was too tight.

Taras laughed, "He didn't forget. You did uncle; you all forgot to get him anything!"

The twins laughed like donkeys, everyone else stared at him silently, until Lara began to explain that he had been bad. Her mother hushed her, while Aunt Vera hissed at Olga, who sniffed, "None of you thought of it either," and turned away.

"I didn't know he was coming," Tanya said.

"He wasn't expected," his grandmother insisted.

The aunts talked over each other, blaming and complaining. In the corner, Roksana sobbed that her party was ruined.

 _I do break everything,_ he thought.

Suddenly, Uncle Vsevolod knelt beside him and said, "Hold out your hands, Pasha. Make a bowl."

He pretended not to hear, but Vsevolod said more firmly, "Pavel."

Sighing, he did as instructed.

His uncle opened his enormous fist. Money poured out, spilling over his cupped hands into a glittering pile on the floor. His older cousins hooted with excitement. He looked up, confused.

Vsevolod said, "Get something for yourself, Pasha. Merry Christmas," and patted his head.

The memory faded away. He blinked a few times in the dark, and realized he was rocking, just as he had all those years ago. He forced himself to stop. _There is nothing about which to be sad. It was hard, but it is over, and so much good came of it. Until I left for the next school, everyone was kind. Well, not Olga, but most people, and from then on, I got money for everything. Birthdays, Easter, everything, they didn't have to see me, or know my interests, or guess my size. They just sent me credits and their guilt went away_.

 _Hikaru doesn't understand because he has never had to make his way alone. Money is independence. When Trofim said I couldn't attend the academy, that I owed the family for everything they'd done for me, I nodded and smiled. Then I went to the transport station and bought myself a one-way ticket to California._

 _Without money, I couldn't have joined Starfleet. I wouldn't have impressed Captain Pike and been assigned to the Enterprise. I wouldn't have met Captain Kirk, or helped save the universe. I wouldn't be here now, on Aderiel relearning how to make a fire, drinking whiskey, and saying whatever it was that made Hikaru believe he should pretend to feel better._

 _Now that,_ he thought, right before he fell asleep, _would have been a bad Christmas._


	8. Christmas on Aderiel Continued

The weak, watery Aderelian sun was shining when McCoy stumbled from his sleep chamber the next morning. "What are you doing?" he asked grumpily of the crewmen gathered around the table.

"Eating," Scott said, with his mouth full. "A full breakfast every morning is the most important meal of the day, you know."

"I'm not talking to you, I meant them," McCoy groused, pulling out a chair. "I haven't had my coffee yet. It's too early for me to see him sitting there like a skinny hound dog, hoping someone might throw him a scrap."

Kirk, lounging in a nestle at the far end of the table with his feet up, shot him an annoyed glance. "The only thing dropping this morning are fantastic ideas from me. You'd know that if you'd gotten up at a reasonable time. Isn't that right, Chekov?"

Chekov looked up from the PADD he was using. His eyes darted between the two men. He said, "Oh, you were speaking to me, Dr. McCoy? Yes, sir, certainly, I will be more careful," then returned his attention to Kirk.

"For crying out loud," McCoy muttered.

"Get some coffee, Bones, and stop harassing my crew," Jim laughed. "I've decided to host a New Year's party; I'm consulting with the expert."

"Is common in Russia," Chekov said eagerly.

"I'm telling you right now; I'm not listening to anything about Russia till I have at least two cups," McCoy said firmly, and popped the lid of a large one.

Kirk rolled his eyes. "Read me back what we've got, Chekov."

Chekov tapped his screen and read, "Tell everyone to order as much champagne as the replicators will make for them, tell them to bring it to my quarters."

"Is that it?" McCoy asked.

"No," Kirk said defensively. "Go on, Chekov."

"Hang lights," Chekov read. He looked over his screen to the doctor. "That is it," he said.

"Change that to hang lots of lights," Kirk said.

"Aye, sir," Chekov said, making a notation, "lots of lights, got it."

"Oh, for pity's sake," McCoy muttered. "Where's Sulu?"

"Still asleep. Know why?" Kirk smiled proudly, "Because it was warm in here last night. Everyone slept great. You're welcome, everyone."

"I slept like a baby," Scott agreed.

McCoy snorted. "A baby with bowling ball size adenoids maybe."

"You're crazy," Scott replied. "I've very sharp hearing. If I snored, I'd hear it." He winked at Chekov, who ducked his head and chuckled.

"You do snore," the captain said.

"So do you," Scott said.

"Not me," Kirk said.

"Hah!" McCoy started but was interrupted by a voice from the fire pit, where Spock sat with a tricorder, inspecting what looked like fuel logs from the ship.

"My tricorder confirms the ambient temperature in the main chamber is 5.7 degrees Celsius higher than it was at this time the previous morning."

"Spock. I didn't see you there," McCoy said. "So, Jim's plan worked, eh? You all realize this means he'll be insufferable the rest of the day."

"Insufferabler, you mean," Scotty said.

Chekov repeated the phrase softly, sounding uncertain.

"Don't copy him, Chekov, the word is more insufferable," McCoy said quickly.

"Two words, Dr. McCoy," Spock corrected, "are generally considered a phrase."

"And," the captain said contentedly, "it's not insufferable when you're right."

"The outside temperature is currently 12 degrees Celsius warmer than it was eight standard Earth hours ago," Spock continued. "The wind is currently blowing at 22.1 kilometers per hour, a rate 2.93 kilometers per hour slower than it was before we retired. I believe these factors explain any change in room temperature."

McCoy shook his head. "Why are you still here, Jim? Shouldn't you be locked in discussion with some Aderielian diplomat by now?"

"They haven't shown up to collect me yet," Kirk replied. "I have no idea why, but I'm enjoying not negotiating while I can. What shall I serve at my party Chekov?"

"Pig, salads, tangerines," Chekov suggested eagerly.

"No salads," Scott called from his end of the table.

"No any of that," Kirk said. "Try again, Chekov."

The young man shrugged. "Things which are easy to eat while drinking?"

"Much better. Make a note of it," the captain said.

"Aye, sir," Chekov said, "got it." He looked up again and said, "I do not understand why Marti always says this is hard. I think you make perfect sense."

"Frankly Chekov, I'm not sure you thinking I make sense is necessarily a good thing," the captain replied. "Add potato chips."

"And sandwiches," Scott interjected, "lots."

"Who's Marti?" McCoy asked, popping the top on a rations kit of oatmeal.

"No one," bleated Chekov, blushing. "Are you sure you want to serve chips with champagne, sir?"

The captain looked thoughtful.

"That's his command decision face," Scotty remarked. "We can expect to hear great things soon." McCoy snorted, but Chekov nodded.

"Yes," the captain said, "I do. Definitely chips."

"Aye, sir, chips," Chekov said, tapping the screen and nodding.

"What are you doing?" Sulu asked. He came up behind the doctor, running his fingers through his hair.

"Eating," Scott said, looking up from his rations pack. "I always eat breakfast in the morning. I don't see why so many people find that surprising," he added.

"What time is it?" Sulu asked, yawning.

"Nine," Kirk replied.

Spock said, "On the Enterprise, it is the second hour of the first watch. However, by Terran naval tradition, informal time on Starfleet vessels is set at the discretion of the captain. Most exercise their prerogative by using the time units of their planet of origin. Captain Kirk has set the chronometers on the Enterprise to match the USA's central time zone."

"You can take the boy out of Iowa," the captain said cheerfully, "but if he wants to call his grandma, he likes to know what time it is."

Spock continued as if the captain had not interrupted. "The longer planetary days mean the time on the Enterprise and Aderiel seldom synch. Right now, the local time is shkenes, or the second cycle past the rising of the cloud cover. Stardates minimize confusion over just such circumstances. The stardate is currently,"

"Spock, we all understand," McCoy said. "It's late morning, Sulu."

"I don't remember the last time I slept this late," sighed Sulu.

"You know why?" the captain replied. "It was so warm and toasty you couldn't help it. You're welcome."

"Are there any of the oatmeal rations left?" Sulu asked. Scotty tossed him two. Taking a seat, Sulu tore open his containers then hesitated before beginning to eat. "I need to say something." He looked around the table and said, "I realize I was not a good companion yesterday."

"Don't worry about it," Kirk said.

"It's hard to be away from your kid on the holidays," McCoy said gruffly.

"Yes," Sulu said softly. "It is, but I used Demora to excuse my behavior."

"Ah hah! what did I tell you?" Scotty barked to Chekov, who busied himself with the PADD, pretending he didn't hear.

"I apologize," Sulu continued. He cleared his throat and said, "Pav?"

Without looking up, Chekov said, "You were not so bad." Scotty snorted dubiously.

"Yeah, well," Sulu sighed, "I want you to know I took your suggestion, and you were right. It helped."

"Really?" Chekov and the captain said at the same time.

"Thanks," Sulu said.

"What'd you tell him?" asked the captain. Chekov shrugged.

"I suppose this means you're going to be insufferable now, too?" asked McCoy.

Insufferabler," Chekov replied.

The gong outside the main door sounded. "There's the Aderielians," the captain moaned. "Time to go to work. Get the door, Chekov."

The younger man bumped the table as he jumped up. The doctor snapped, "You spilled my coffee, Chekov."

"I am sorry, sir," Chekov replied, reaching for a napkin.

McCoy waved him back. "You're always in such an all-fired hurry. When are you going to learn to be more careful?"

The captain dropped his feet to the door and said, "Wait. You know what? No. Sit down, Chekov." The ensign glanced toward the door. "I said, sit." Chekov dropped obediently to a nestle, watching Kirk anxiously. "You get the door, McCoy."

The doctor scowled.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'll be more careful," Chekov said plaintively.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Chekov. It's been suggested we could divide the work up more evenly. Now's as good a time as any to start," the captain replied smugly. The gong rang again. He pointed at the doctor and then the door.

McCoy muttered to himself and started to the main chamber doors. The wind lashed through the room when he yanked the door open, shaking the curtains. "Merry Christmas!" called Uhura. She came in quickly, a blanket wrapped around her head and shoulders like a shawl. Five similarly covered figures followed her, the crew members currently assigned to the female quarters.

"Hello," called Chekov, bumping the table again as he jumped up. Spock rose too and nodded stiffly.

"Ladies!" the captain nodded, waggling his fingers slowly.

The smallest crew members waved, her giggle identifying Yeoman Landon. "Officers," Uhura corrected, unwrapping herself. In their red uniforms, Unhra, Rand, and Davi were indistinguishable until they shed the blankets. Lt. Sabide's hunched posture made her easy to recognize. A native of Bahz, she was quite large by Earth standards, too tall to stand upright in many Aderielian buildings. The sixth crewman, Lieutenant Palamas, was easily identified by the perfect golden curls that blew about enticingly in the wind.

Uhura set down a large covered basket. "It seems warmer here than at our place," she said, "Is that possible?"

"You're welcome," Kirk said.

Rand patted her elaborate updo to make sure it was still in place. "He's taking credit for the weather now too?" she whispered to Chekov, who shrugged.

"This is a pleasant surprise," McCoy said.

"I hope you still think so when I explain," Uhura said.

"Explain what?" Kirk asked.

Palamas and Uhura exchanged looks. "Are you surprised, sir, that you haven't been summoned to negotiations yet today?" Palamas asked.

"Don't jinx it," Kirk replied. "They usually fetch me for negotiations after they conclude their morning preparatory considerations, but no one's here yet. That must be some powerful meditating they're doing today. They've never been this late before."

"I wouldn't worry," Rand said.

Uhura frowned at her. "Sir, when I had tea with the ambassador this morning..."

"You have tea with the ambassador?" McCoy interrupted.

Uhura nodded. "I have tea with Ambassador Enberlag almost every morning. Anyway, I happened to mention this is a significant holiday in your culture of origin."

"Christmas was yesterday," Sulu said.

"And now," Chekov said thoughtfully.

"We get it, Chekov, every day is Christmas if you have a happy heart," McCoy grumbled, "Geez, son, you gotta stop."

"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. Or, I am saying, sir, it is still yesterday," Chekov explained.

"And I'm saying," complained McCoy, "that it is much too early for me to listen to you philosophize."

Spock cleared his throat. Standing with his hands behind his back, he said, "As we discussed recently, doctor, time on Aderiel does not synch with time on the Enterprise. In Iowa, it was midnight, and thus Christmas, approximately 16.7 Earth hours ago. Using the captain's preferred United States' central time, it is now afternoon on December twenty-fifth, which I understand, is still considered the holiday."

"So, it's Christmas Day!" McCoy said sarcastically, "I haven't missed it. The spirits have done it all in one night."

"You were worried, doctor?" Chekov asked, kindly. Scott and Kirk laughed.

Sulu grabbed Chekov's PADD and began to push buttons. "Pavel," he growled. "I am sending you a book. I want you to read it."

"Yes, sir," Chekov said.

Shaking his head, Sulu handed Chekov the PADD and said, "If you'll excuse me, I need a shower."

When Sulu was out of sight, Chekov whispered morosely to Rand and Landon, "I do not generally enjoy fiction."

"I don't enjoy books," Rand said with a shrug.

"Uhura," Kirk said in his captain voice, "what is it you are trying to tell me about the Aderielians?"

"The ambassador was fascinated to hear about the holiday and is very eager to celebrate with you, sir," Uhura replied apologetically.

"No," Kirk said firmly.

Uhura continued quickly, "I assured her you would be delighted to share and invited her."

"Uhura!" Kirk sounded shocked. His lieutenant continued even more quickly.

"Captain, I'm sorry. I realize this isn't your favorite holiday, but I could tell from her body language that she was very eager for an invitation. I believe making an effort to include her in a celebration could go far to accomplishing your long term goals," Uhura said. "That's why I'm on this mission to clarify subtext when I can."

"Uhura," Kirk said again, less angry.

"I know how much you would like to conclude this mission, sir. Clan relations and class ties are on Aderiel; I think, sir, inviting her to what she understands is a family holiday could go far to establishing trust between you. It may even hurry the negotiations."

"Do it," urged McCoy. "Anything to get off this rock."

"Yeah, okay," Kirk said unhappily. "You're right. Okay, people, in the interest of ending the mission, we're going to celebrate Christmas with the Aderelians."

Chekov turned to Kirk. "Sir, it will be crowded. I volunteer to give up my place."

"Nice try," Kirk laughed. "Just because you got out of answering the door doesn't mean my primary concern on this important diplomatic mission has suddenly become that you enjoy it, Chekov. Why would I let you out of enduring it if the rest of us have to?"

"Yes, sir, I am sorry, sir," Chekov said, then quietly added to Scott, "I don't mind talking with them, I do mind eating any more of their food."

Scotty nodded. "Too bad the two of you can't switch tasks. We all know himself can eat anything."

"Don't worry, Chekov," McCoy said. "There'll be plenty of room. We'll set up a kids' table in the corner."

"A what?" Chekov asked, then corrected himself, "I beg your pardon, sir, I am not certain I know that phrase."

"A kids' table. It's one of my favorite holiday traditions," McCoy said, chuckling. Chekov looked at him skeptically.

"Okay," Kirk said. "We're hosting a Christmas party in a few hours. What are the bare minimums we need to make it a success?"

"A kids' table," McCoy said, still grinning.

"Get serious people. If we are doing this, we have to do it right. It can't fail," the captain said.

"How about," Uhura said. "If everyone shares their favorite tradition? If we combine them, we'll cover everything and make it a holiday we all enjoy." She noticed the captain and CMO's pained expressions and said quickly, "Come on, Chekov, you first. What's something your family does to enjoy the holiday?"

"I am sorry, Miss Uhura, it is impossible to replicate."

"Because everything is so all-fired excellent in Russia?" McCoy asked sarcastically.

"No, sir, because we already drank all the alcohol," Chekov said in a tone that implied he was explaining something obvious to a slow child.

"When did you do that?" Landon asked.

"We had a party last night," Chekov replied. "It started quite late, or I would have come to ask all of you to join us."

"Really?" asked Landon. "A party?"

"More a single drink as we listened to Sulu complain," Scott said, "but it did mark the day."

Looking around, Dravi said thoughtfully, "My observations while at the academy led me to assume that this holiday consisted of competitions between clans using ritualized decoration."

"Yeah," Jim sighed. "Too bad there aren't any lights around here."

Dravi continued, "We should at least make a spectacular fire. It will require fuel."

"Right," Sabide said, refastening her duty jacket.

"Great idea," Kirk directed. "Chekov, show them where it is." The ensign jumped up, but the captain held up a hand. "Wait,' he said, "unless, perhaps, you'd prefer to do it, doctor?"

"I don't need a trip to the woodpile, Kirk. You've made your point," McCoy grumbled.

"It is neither a pile nor wood," Spock said.

"And I know where it is," Chekov added hopefully. Kirk nodded and made a run along gesture.

Landon cleared her throat, "Maybe I'll go too," she said, and grabbing her shawl, followed the others out the door.

"Isn't that cute?" Rand asked contemptuously.

"What?" asked McCoy.

"Never mind," Uhura said. "What else do we need?"

"Food," Rand said. "Lots, I'll set a menu and contact the ship. I'll need you to okay it, sir."

"Sure, whatever," Jim said. "Listen, since we're contacting the ship anyway, do you think we could maybe get some liquor? I know it's unorthodox, but I should probably make a toast of something."

"I'll see what I can do," Rand said and began to push buttons on her tricorder.


End file.
